Retro; Action Speaks Greater Than Words.

 Action Speaks Greater Than Words

There are days… and there are days when it all comes to pieces—but true to your nature, you ramble on, just because. I'm back at having to find 2K for my daughter's college fees, which, as always, are due pretty soon. More begging around to be done. Time to get that Buddha Bowl out and knock on some doors. Such is! But hey, it’s life. It’s what makes living more challenging and meaningful. The important thing is to keep on trying—and never say die.

So I sent out a few distress calls—to my son the pilot, my brother Lee Khai, and my cousin Zack, who this morning came through with 1K. Alhamdulillah. Now I just need to seek out one more K and that’ll be the end of that story.

Accepting your lot in life—especially when you’re on the receiving end—is never easy. But it’s an enlightening experience that humbles your ego. And I used to have an overinflated one in my younger days. Today, I reach out to my friends and family with faith in mind, knowing that I, too, have always been a giver—sometimes to a fault. Frowned upon? Yes. Shame and lowered self-esteem? Yes. But one has to do what needs to be done when all else fails. My daughter will finish her schooling one way or another—and this is her lesson too.

If this blogging had been paying as promised by Google AdSense, I would’ve had it solved—at least part of it—but Google chooses to advertise on my blog free of charge, accusing me of cheating or something like that. How? Don’t ask me.

If my artworks on show and at various shops were selling, I’d be okay—but...
If I were younger and still able to hold a position like I used to as a Safety Officer, yeah, that too would help—but...
I’m over the age limit for gainful employment, so I help out at my cousin’s catering business when needed—to keep me alive, and less frowned upon by my peers.

My mother, at one time in my teenage life, warned me about becoming an artist—not so subtly. She switched off the light while I was deep in paint and glue, doing a collage in the wee hours of the morning. Then she slammed her door shut and went to bed, leaving me in the dark, tears welling in my eyes. I gave up art, yes I did, for the next ten years of my life… only to take it up again while living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

I sold my first oil painting to a friend—it was of an old Chinese junk. Then I did a close-up of a patch of undergrowth with dead leaves, sticks, and small flowers—it was sold to an African friend who took it with him back to Nairobi. The rest was history.

I put myself through five years of art school in Green Bay, Wisconsin. Graduated cum laude with a Bachelor of Fine Arts. Had several shows in and around the state, and I didn’t do too badly. But I always had a side job. For some reason, I was never good at selling my works. I ended up giving them away as gifts to friends. Perhaps it is meant to be that I will never be rich like my twin brother. But it’s not that I’m unhappy in my life—just because I ramble on about it, or because I might be jealous of others who made it financially.

I just wish, sometimes, I got what I’m worth in my creativity.

I’m addicted to creating artworks just as I am to cigarettes—and I am good at it. No two ways about it. But my pride as an artist has often been the block to selling my works. My eldest brother once told me, “People do not appreciate the things they get for nothing—make them pay for it.” I should have taken his advice seriously.

Just got a text from the pilot in Dubai—he’s sent 1500 through Western Union. So I’m up ahead by 500, which will go toward my daughter’s rent and allowance. Alhamdulillah.

The Lord said, “Ask, and ye shall be given.” So I ask.

And the Buddha’s Bowl is never empty when you swallow your pride and bury your ego. For there are charitable hearts out there in your times of dire need—but you must have a charitable heart as a prerequisite.