immortal-journal

[immortal-journal]

“To be immortal is commonplace; except for man, all creatures are immortal, for they are ignorant of death; what is divine, terrible, incomprehensible, is to know that one is immortal.”

— Jorge Luis Borges

[immortal-journal]

“With patience, practice, and time, change will come.”

— Dalai Lama

[immortal-journal]

‘’Everyday goes by without a second thought, Living in a perfect & controlled project. Will I be trapped inside this hell until I die?‘‘  

[immortal-journal]

Bomb

August 12th, 2045

“In today’s latest news, world war three has officially began amongst the allies with the attempt of destroying the United States of America’s nuclear arsenal by the British empire. The United States tried to strike back with their go towards trying to detonate the London bridge. Japan has not declared war on its other neighboring countries, in an attempt to keep peace amongst other dueling countries. For more updates concerning the war, listen to the NPR app or your local radio station.”

This is what they’re trying to do, with instigating “peace.” Human’s naïveté when witnessed makes me want to laugh and point at the stupidity portrayed to the ignorant public. My eyes scanned the Tokyo freeway I was on, every car filled with humans fighting with their spouse about where they should eat dinner, miserable commoners who are yet to embark on their 9-5 work schedule that makes them want to scream, or it might even hold terrorists and murderers ready to sacrifice innocent souls for their own agenda.

Tokyo sat before me, a wide city filled with 38 million people, the most populated city in the world. I knew that this city would soon be ashes, with the apocalypse happening. Oh, believe me I am truly devastated that the human race I have lived so long within the shadows will be ending like this. For thousands of years war has destroyed societies that have thrived for so long, and leaves rubble amongst the survivors to become the savages that they have so long tried not to become.

Why do you ask that I’m here? I wish to die. I know, whoever may be reading this journal entry probably is gasping in surprise at this sudden declaration. Why would someone like an immortal man wish to die? It is such an annoying question deciphered in dramatic monologues and lengthy poetry. When you’re like myself, someone who has come to seen the thousands of your mortal partners die, along with your children, and so on, you wish for death because loneliness is a living hell. I have contracted diseases before, tried to inflict physical damage on my body, I even tried to be eaten by many beasts whose bellies could hold ten of me, but no matter what deadly act I committed on myself, I still lived no matter if I tried to get eaten by a killer shark, or dived into a volcano on a remote island.

This bomb, this unmistakable evil, this is my chance to end this once and for all. Something of that magnitude that can turn something into ashes within a split second would have to apply to myself as well.

I looked around me, noticing that traffic has suddenly stopped on the freeway. Glancing around, I saw a young Japanese girl staring at me intensely from her window in a silver Nissan car parked next to mine. I smiled at her, giving her a friendly wave. But, she continued to stare. My smile instantly faded as I began to wonder what she saw when she looked at me. Did she see an old soul who is weary of living? I have came across children in my past lives who had a feeling that I was something not of this world. It was always a comfort to know that someone else out there tried to understand my existence, even if it was an innocent child.

The cars weren’t moving at all. Checking the time, I widened my eyes when I saw that I had been stuck in the same place for the past hour. I rummaged in my suitcase, trying to find my cellular phone to call the hotel I had stayed at the night before—

I jumped in my seat when a loud siren had filled the air. Other drivers and passengers whipped their heads around as well, surprised and anxious as to where that siren was coming from. It wasn’t a police siren, or a bullhorn sound, it was a siren that could represent a warning—

My radio suddenly turned on by itself. A static sound came from it, then a panting voice came on.

“Emergency! Emergency! Germany has fired a missle to Tokyo seek shelter—(static)—bomb is coming—(an even longer period of static that had me wondering if the station turned itself)—Japan has entered into the war—SEEK SHELTER NOW!”

But it was too late. A pinpoint in the middle of the sky made its way slowly towards the heart of Tokyo. The descent was gentle, it looked like it would simply bounce off one of the buildings and die in its own grave. I knew that wasn’t the case though as my excitement helped me brace for impact—

It was a wondrous light. My hands were steady on my car’s steering wheel when the almighty bang of God’s wrath erupted in a terrifying jaw-dropping moment. Shinagawa was gone. My foot forgot to tap the break, causing my the front of my car to slam into the one in front of me that too was stopped along the shuto expressway. The roaring vibrations of the atomic bomb reached its cloudy hands into the air with a triumphant cheer of power, then rushed its tide towards the freeway. Car doors began to fly open as the humans helplessly tried to outrun the incoming blast heading towards them. Their faces whipped around with the fear of death outlining their screaming mouths. Mothers holding babies tripped over crushed people that were lifeless on the ground like rotten debris.

And I, I enjoyed the beautiful view.

I was so close to the blast that I knew death would have to come. It was slow, watching death rushing towards me. I closed my eyes, and instantly I fell into a sleep so I could welcome death more properly. I thought it would all end in the blink of an eye, but it was outstretched seconds in the sound of a violin singing a sad love story. My mind still asleep, I could imagine what must be occurring. The crimson cloud of dust  enveloped cars steadily before me. Humans were beginning to jump over the side of the freeway to an alternative death. Others who couldn’t escape the freeway burned from the nuclear heat, their hands clawing out to the sky, their existence slumping over in an insignificant last breath.

I raised my palms upwards and titled my head back with a relaxed sigh. I’ve survived deadly events of war before, but never has this occurred. This was my chance, finally I will be given a chance to die like they can—

The heat swallowed me in a stunning kiss of passion. Dying came in stages. I felt the heat of a warm blanket covering me to induce a deep slumber. Then, the blanket continued to warm until the point of it feeling like a hot iron was rubbing lightly against my skin. The iron went deeper into my skin in the next stage, causing me to scream from the incoming pain consuming me. I was on fire, what is this I’ve experienced being burned badly by fire but never a fire made by man—

I found myself out of my car, slumped on the charred pavement. The rows of cars on the freeway that were destroyed by the bomb were blackened with fire filling the car and surrounding each car. I sought out the young girl that was staring at me and found nothing but a sticky hand print left on her car window.

How am I still have coherent thoughts? The tips of my fingers were charred and being caught in the wind of smoke that began to circulate the heart of the explosion. My clothes were gone, my hair was nonexistent. My eyes traveled along the length of my nude body. I was nothing but rubble and stripped flesh. I could see the white of my bones in my arms. Why am I not dead? I was a walking corpse. I was supposed to be dead from the explosion, that’s what I came here for I can’t live like this anymore—

I let out a strangled cry that went unanswered amongst the silence of the grave I was in. I am truly damned to not die. People used to think of me as a god due to this condition of mine. I looked at it as something I did to God that left me as a cast away from his good graces.

I was so tired. I didn’t want to lay on the ground because if I did, I would simply wake up a hundred years later and find myself as I was before. I began to walk, or shuffle is a more likely term for it, interweaving through the cars on fire. My eyes scanned the freeway, looking for survivors. Who was I fooling though? There are no survivors in a place like this. This was hell on earth. Shit, this is terrible.

I had to get out of Tokyo. There has to be survivors somewhere. But how would I find them?

I walked for several days without pausing for sleep, for food, or for water. I called out for survivors, for anybody that may still be alive. On the seventh day I was walking towards the coastline of Japan. I was still charred black, and my toes were beginning to hang off of my feet, making them dangle with every step I took. There was absolutely nothing. The smoke lessened the further I walked away from the heart of the explosion. The sun was able to shine through the ash clouds. Patches of light lit up the ground I walked along, grass, pavement, dirt, as if it was leading me towards refuge in this empty world.

Before me was the sea, and with a frustrated groan as I scanned my eyes before me, I realized that there were no boats around me.

“Shit. Of course.” This was the first thing I had said in days. I wanted to laugh, but physically and mentally I couldn’t stand it. My voice came out in a raspy whisper. My eyes closed for a second to let my thoughts sort themselves out. I was supposed to be dead by now. I wanted to finally, after a millennia, find out what happened after death. Oh, how I envy humans. They get to experience the moment their hearts stop and they can open their eyes to what waits for them in the beyond.

A shuffle of footsteps occurred behind me. I spun my head around, crying out in pain at the sudden feeling of being stabbed ran down my spine. Due to my damaged eyesight, I had to squint to see a figure moving uneasily side to side towards me. They became clearer with every step they came towards me. A light snow of ash due to the radiation drifted down upon us. Standing on the beach, I slipped sideways when my feet fell into the water. The salt of the sea dug into my exposed flesh that made me jump up from my position with fear that became adrenaline.

“Sir…sir…please…”

I looked into her eyes and tried not to take a step back in fear. Hey, I probably didn’t look as great as well. The side of this woman’s face was the color of raw cow meat that periodically oozed fresh blood onto the surface of her skin. Half of her hair was burned off of her head, along with her eyes taking on a color of black coal. As my eyes followed the length of her face, I noticed that her arm also was trying unsuccessfully to heal itself from the heat radiation of the blast. I looked into those coal black eyes, and tried to muster an apology for what had happened to her.

“I’m—I’m sorry—“

I’m not a sentimental person. I used to be during the Renaissance period when I was composing lyrical ballads in an inn about fighting for love when I saw Shakespeare coming up and an unmistakable desire to fall at his knees crying after his performance of Romeo and Juliet. My humanity was showing, I would’ve joked to a passerby who had no clue to my condition. I hadn’t felt an loving for somebody’s ideas and artistic mind since before the Black Death occurred in 1347. Let’s just say being surrounded by the disease, contracting it, and watching others die around you while you stay healthy is a depressing condition.

So as I stood before this woman, I wanted to fling my arms around her in a crushing embrace. I learned with my few hundred years living in an era of romanticism that being sentimental is exhausting. A person gets only a handful of decades with a chance to bestow kindness onto the world. It’s to leave their mark before they die, so then their name lives on. But what happens when your name can’t live on due to exposing yourself, but you still will?

I didn’t know exactly where this woman came from, so I mustered with my ravaged voice some words in Japanese to communicate with her.

“Hello, ma’am…what is your name?”

She didn’t say anything at first, for the sea replaced the silence she was giving me. It was an “akward” conversation, as some would say. Ready to repeat my question, she decided to answer.

“Aiko.”

Her voice was light but assertive, as if she was a mother who was able to bestow her will upon her children quite easily. She self-consciously adjusted the sodden white shirt she had on that was ripped along the seams, matching her denim jeans she also had on.

“Hello, Aiko.” I nodded my head in acknowledgement towards her. Usually when on the beach, one could hear the occasional shifting of human feet scurrying in the sand, or a seagull swooping low over other’s heads. But in this case, not a single sound can be heard but the power of the sea behind us. It frightened me, and made me sleepy. My body urged me to fall asleep so I could sleep through all of this, but I needed to find out what happened to everyone else. Her eyes looked over my corpse body.

I could tell she was in shock, but how was I supposed to help? The coal black eyes landed on my wrist.

Looking down, I saw that I had my diamond watch on still. I bought that watch back in Milan during the winter of 1986. I loved the 80’s fashion, that is the only area of art that comes closest to the renaissance period. And Aiko’s eyes were not wavering from it.

I didn’t have anything to do with the watch now. Society’s concept of time is nonexistent, along with their damned money currency. I reached towards the watch to take it off so Aiko could keep it, because why would I keep something that will make it look like I was a target—

It was the rock she was hiding behind her back that knocked me out. Usually I could withstand an attack such as this one due to my lengthy past of being hit in the head by blunt large objects. This was the first time though when I couldn’t handle the pain. My body fell flat on my back onto the wet sand before me. My vision swam in and out of my consciousness that allowed me to feel Aiko grabbing my hand to snatch the watch off, and not look back as she scurried away.

Of course, the one and only thing I didn’t want to happen happened. I fell asleep.

And I had awoken in dingy, dirty old pub.

Drool caressed my cheek from being pressed against the splintered wood table. A bottle of rum was open next to me with half of it already drained. Parchments of paper were scattered on the small wooden table I was sitting at, along with a bottle of ink and a quill waiting to be used.

Confused, I observed my surroundings. Drunkards clapping each other’s back in congratulations for drinking the most in their group, the hoof beats of horses on cobblestones outside loudly amplifying the drunken laughter, and tho scratch of an artist or a writer making their famous masterpieces made me sit up with excitement. Am I really here? Is this really happening?

I jumped up from my chair and hurried up to the bar. The gentleman shining a dirty glass with a dirty cloth didn’t reconigze my presence at first. Clearing my throat, the bar keeper looked up with an expression of annoyance at my interrupting his duties.

“Hello—uh, kind sir, would ye have knowledge of the current date?” God, I was rusty. I held my breath in the hope that that was convincing.

In response, the bar keeper gargled a ball of spit in his mouth and spat it into the cup. I tried not to feel repulsed at the sight. Humans have so much to learn in the coming centuries.

“It is the 5th of April in her grace’s year 1594, ye filthy drunkard.” He turned his back towards me to end our conversation.

“God bless!” I bowed towards the barkeeper’s back. I’m back, I’m back. I ran over to my table to grab my compilation of poems that I had been working on. The sleepiness I had been feeling was starting to slowly ebb away. I reminded myself to stop drinking rum after staying up for a week straight trying to write a play. It was Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet that made my stoic existence of the past hundreds of years to feel like something worth living. I could write a play, I told myself after viewing such a wonderful performance of how feuding families being the causation of two young children. How about, I thought to myself with my eyebrows pursed in creative thought, I write a play about an immortal who simply wants to find his death. The thing that everyone lusts over in this world can be turned sideways in this play to something that is a reaffirmation that mortality is a beautiful, mysterious thing.

While running out the door, I stopped short, for something was wrong. My chest gave a great shudder, as if it was trying to gulp a lungful of air that was already residing within it. Then, the feeling went away. How curious, I thought to myself. Shaking my head, I reminded myself to not drink so much rum, it gives me such vivid dreams.

I walked through the bar’s creaking door, ducking my head down due to its abnormal height. The smell of horse dung and rotten turnips with a touch of possibility greeted me in a warm welcome. I widened my arms to the smell, the sounds, and the sun trying in vain to shower its light through hanging clothes and London’s swelling, dark clouds. How bleak this would look to another’s eyes, but for me, this was where I ended as another soul damned to eternally walk this earth, and begin at a mind that can declare that they’re so much more than that.

Then, I saw him.

His scruffy hair mused in every direction from his fingers frustratingly patting it down in wait for an artistic inspiration. His dirty clothes dotted with ink from the writing of his most previous play that he finished last night. His smiling grin as he greets a friend of his who is lingering outside of the pub.

“Master Shakespeare?” I asked myself, daring to not believe it. I knew that it was him though, it was like I was living a memory of seeing him here in this very spot—

“Master Shakespeare!” I called to him over the noise of a crowded city. Naturally, he didn’t hear my call at first. I moved closer to him, bumping into an old lady selling killed chickens to passerby.

“Master—“

I stopped, for once again my lungs refused to work for me. What is happening? I stroked my throat in confusion. Trying to take a deep breath, I exclaimed in surprise when at least a gallon of water rushed out of my mouth. My eyes watered with humiliation and pain, but not a single soul noticed the puddle spreading along the dirt ground. My knees buckled beneath me from the rushing of more water making its way steadily up my throat.

“Help! Help!” I called out to the passerby that who could’ve at least patted me on the back with kindness. Hooves continued to clomp on the ground, beggars still asked others for a spare coin, and the smell of rotting vegetables and uncooked chickens coated my swelling tongue—

My eyes closed, and I found myself staring up into the sun. I was shaking from the coldness of the sea that has made my naked body shrivel with paleness and lack of food or water. I rolled my eyes with annoyance. Of course I was healed completely. I tried to move my paralyzed body that was steadily awakening from its slumber. Has it been a hundred years since I was knocked out by Aiko? Or two hundred? Oh, please don’t let it be a thousand.

Two faces peered into my vision. They were wearing face masks, along with body suits that shielded them from the abnormally hot sun. I had never been so happy to see human faces.

“Sir? Sir are you okay? Can you tell me your name?” Their accents were different from the Japanese. I had actually floated across the sea to the mainland. My mind spinning from the recent events, I opened my mouth to the strangers lingering over me, wishing beyond belief that I had passed over to the other side. My lingering doubts still led me to answer these two who found me.

“I Am the Immortal.”

[immortal-journal]

“Om began to feel the acute depression that steals over every realist in the presence of an optimist.”

— Terry Pratchett - Small Gods

[immortal-journal]

[immortal-journal]

Something to Believe

I was never a believer. I wanted to be. I watched all of you look at objects. Sun. Moon. Rocks. Whatever. You obsessed over them. Personified them and worshipped them. It must be nice to lie to yourselves like that. To find something to believe. I’ll admit, when you got sophisticated with making statues of Zeus and Osiris, I was impressed. Look at what you made! Good job!

   Religion was the same everywhere. Didn’t matter where you lived. You all believed in a Creation, an apocalypse, a chance for redemption, and an end. The Western lot of you believed in a happily ever after. Eternal happiness. The Eastern part of you believed in reincarnation. Moksha or Nirvana releasing from the endless cycle of suffering. I am generalizing, and I am envious of all of you.

   You see, I’ve visited numerous places of worship. Prayed all day in a mosque. Drank wine for communion in church. Watch every candle light up in the temple. Tried out a couple of cults. Nothing stuck the way you guys feel when you have found your calling. I lived so long before you came into existence. I already know how the world works and how it will end. For a while I couldn’t say the “E” word around you. Evolution! Evolution! Evolution! See? I said it and some of you still flinched. Even with all this knowledge, I needed to fill this void in my life. I figured that I could do this with either religion or death.

   I had no gods, or god, to tell me my purpose when I came to be on this earth. No sacred text. I was never instructed on how I should live my life righteously and just. I just winged it. In fact, I taught you how to make fire (and burgers while we’re at it). You came up with religion all on your own. I’ve been in orgys, and drank for decades. I’ve killed. I’ve slept with your wives. I’ve slept with your husbands. Sometimes I feel sorry for you when you stress over silly rules. Eat pork! Eat dairy and meat together! Eat beef! Skip worship. No higher being cares that you stole money from the church. They don’t care if you pay tithes. They don’t care if you never went on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem or Mecca. But that faith you had in something better than this. I wanted that. I wanted that faith almost as much as I wanted death.

   I thought it would be funny to ask God to smite me. I coaxed as much as I could. Huge grassy field. I shouted everything I could so He could damn me. Even if I spent an eternity in hell, at least I would know that there was more to life than this: singular living; no greater purpose other than surviving and finding things to do to make time pass. The worst part about being immortal is that depression feels eternal. Actually, it is. Everything is impermanent except for me, and that makes me so depressed.

   Still, I tried killing myself anyway. Went to church one day. Didn’t feel anything, so I jumped off a mountain. No injuries. Went to another place of worship. Prayed all day. Child’s pose is really good for lower back pain by the way. Still felt nothing. I jumped off a higher mountain head first. I had a terrible headache, but I was still alive. Goddamnit.

   Mountains and boulders were not working. Religion was more like cough medicine for a flu. It helped a little, but didn’t cure the source of my depression. I thought of other ways to die. That’s when I had conjured up the idea of getting hit by lightning. Every time there was a thunderstorm, I waited. I got electrocuted thousands of times. It was a numb tingling like the way your foot feels when it has fallen asleep. Every time, I survived. Every time, there was no divine intervention telling me to believe.

My next plan was to turn to starve myself to death. It didn’t work. I tried eating myself to death. No impact on my body whatsoever. Then I turned to water. No, not into wine. I wanted to die drowning. I tied ropes around two sandbags. Then I tied the loose ends around my ankles so I couldn’t float. I walked away from the New Zealand shore and went 6 feet under hoping I would drown. I don’t know how, but I can breathe under fucking water. I didn’t know that until I tried killing myself. Well, I’m already down under, I might as well explore.

I kept the sandbags with me just in case. I had the time to explore. I still secretly hoped I would drown and that the water would just take longer for my body to give out. It never did. I saw Moby Dick. I saw the little mermaid (she’s not a red-head). I even saw Atlantis. Nice city by the way. Same shit though. Bunch of beings believing in something better.

No creature wanted to eat me. No deity felt bad that I was sinking in my depression. I’ve heard so many stories of angels visiting people in their time of need. How rock bottom do you really need to get before divine intervention? That made me even more depressed. Either the higher beings didn’t care, or worse, they didn’t exist. I used to have hope that they would intervene in my life. They never did. The whole “everything happens for a reason” is bullshit. But please keep believing in it if that makes you happy. Like I said before, I envy you.

I had a crazy idea that I could dig to the core and possibly burn myself and die! But as I got deeper into the trenches of the ocean. It started getting darker.  It was a trip being down there. So many fantastic creatures that lit up. They looked better than constellations with their rainbow lights. I saw a giant squid too! It looked me right in the eye, and deemed me unworthy of their needs. An animal does not even think I’m worthy enough to digest. The deeper I went into the trenches, the more pitch black it became. I had grown accustomed to being underwater that I almost forgot that I was underwater. I heard voices though. They weren’t spiritual beings telling me that it’s time to take the call of spiritual adventure. No. These voices were taunting.

Alone. Alone. You will be alone. Everything that will ever exist will never exist again. Everything has its own time except for you. You can’t stop time.

I was becoming incredibly neurotic. I released the sandbags and drifted to the top of the ocean. I floated for several decades. Eventually I found myself drifting to Europe. I fought in The Crusades on both sides. I was angry at you. I was angry that you were killing each other thinking that you were right and the other was wrong. No. I am the only one who knows the real truth. Even in your last moments of life, you looked to the heavens. Your eyes filled with steadfast faith. Praying to your gods for this release. You were always so foolishly confident in believing that you would end up in the place you spent your entire life preparing for. So I killed you. I killed you so long as your eyes were steadfastly looking into the heavens. So you never had a fraction of a second to doubt about what you believed.

[immortal-journal]

[immortal-journal]

Granddaughter

The role of the mother was usually important to her children. Separation from parents was also an important life issue for the growth of children. I suddenly thought of my other two identities - a father and a grandfather. The father could intervene in the relationship between the mother and children, allowing my children to have more emotional communication and interaction in the family relationship which helped to promote the separation and individualization of children in the process of growing up with their mother. Grandfather's identity allowed me to enjoy my family life. I thought of myself that I had not seen my daughter and granddaughter yet. Sometimes it was difficult to separate the mother and their children. Maybe my daughter and my granddaughter would think that her father or grandfather was a person who worked hard all year round. My wife was a mother and a grandmother. She could only grapple with her family affairs, discipline and care of her children and grandchildren. She lost her own space for development. I felt very guilty that I had not been able to help and let her get enough physical and mental relaxation. This may easily lead to the psychological imbalance of my a woman. I decided to meet my daughter and my granddaughter, but I was nervous, super nervous. I did not know how to get along with my own children and grandchildren. On the way to Jerusalem, I actually did not see my daughter, but I met my granddaughter. She found me and I also found her. How did I accurately identify that was my granddaughter? Because her eyes looked really similar to mine. Was this the reason behind the inheritance? My mood was very complicated. I missed them very much, but I felt very nervous when I faced to them. I was eager to see them, but I was very afraid of saying goodbye after meeting. I was immortal, but their life was limited. Even if I met them, we would have one day to say goodbye to each other. Then why should such happiness begin? I was wondering, wondering a lot.

I even had  a thought of escaping, but I could not control my heart because I really missed them. Fine! I raised my courage and said hello to my granddaughter. Her eyes were bright and innocent, liked a stream, and my heart felt warm at once. My tension seemed to alleviate for a little bit. My granddaughter's face looked very flushed. I just saw she was coughing, maybe she was sick. "How are you, my dear? Are you sick? You look not very well.”

"Who are you?" My granddaughter had never met me before. She asked me curiously instead of answering my question.

“I am sorry. I forget to introduce myself." My tone was soft and slowly said to her, “I am your grandfather. You had never seen me before, but please trusting me. I will not lie to you, dear. ”

My granddaughter had a little alert in her eyes. I did not mind her attitude and touched her soft short hair. I took out a piece of candy from my pocket. "Gift for you."

The child's world was always simple. She could feel my friendliness. So after a while, she accepted my gift and was familiar with me. I was pleased with such good development. Jerusalem in Israel had always existed in my travel plans. This city, which was given a legendary history and a holy aura, once made it impossible for people from far places to distinguish whether it came from legends or whether it actually had its place in reality. During the past years, the direction of my knowledge and the pace of traveling did not lead me to this city which owned the "center of the world". Therefore, when I slammed its door with the attitude of an ignorant, I  was not even know that I would meet a light beyond imagination, or an embarrassing broken wall. But I was very happy. No matter what kind of scenes I would see, I had met my granddaughter here. I spent the happiest time with her.

Many people had read many books about Jerusalem before and after the trip in Jerusalem. I sat next to my granddaughter and read the book called “Three Thousand Years of Jerusalem” for her. I told her to read this book because this was the key to open the city which was not be easily understood. She looked at me with a misunderstanding. The child's curiosity was endless. Although she did not understand the meaning at this moment, she was full of interest and happy emotion about the words in the book. I smiled and asked my granddaughter, "Darling, are you ready for the adventure?"

This may also come from my expectation of the adventure. Visiting a magical city such as Jerusalem had only limited opportunities in one's life. Why should I waste these unknown to verify certain rhetoric and attitudes? I would rather use my eyes to observe and my own hand to touch the stone walls that had not been weathered for thousands of years. I preferred to guess whether the source of those gullies had trapped people's tears. I did not want my granddaughter to think I was a boring and rigid grandfather.

On our trip, the name of Jerusalem appeared two times. The first time was on the third day after the start of the journey. We entered into Jordan through the border with King Hussein bridge which located close to Jerusalem. This was a short stay. My granddaughter's coughing was much better than before. I guessed this may because of the climate change. The second time was after returning from Jordan’s journey. We would not leave Jerusalem until the end of the entire trip. I could not wait to take my granddaughter to visit everything in Jerusalem. We did not want to miss any place. It was dusty for a thousand years. People's love, hatred, beliefs, pain, and endless yearning for this place were inexhaustible. It was just the same as my love for my granddaughter. No matter how many years passed, I still loved my granddaughter.

The weather in Jerusalem was notoriously bad. Despite heavy snowfall in the mountains of southern Jordan, areas near the Mediterranean Sea had been refreshingly warm. Less than an hour's drive from this area to Jerusalem, traffic on the edge of the city began slowly. Arabic music and Hebrew news were not understood from the radio. My granddaughter's face had been tired. I let her head fell down on my shoulder to sleep for a while. The bright yellow light that lights up from the distant mountains which liked the galaxy scattered over the earth. Between the ripples, the sky began to rain.

Those who had never been to Jerusalem felt that there had been three thousand years of human suffering buried here and they had been watching with compassionate eyes to this peaceful city. I saw the raindrop from the sky through the window. It was like the mood of this sad concerto. It was a heavy atmosphere that was filled with sad emotions. Most people were no longer able to remember the origins of this city's memories, but they were not the same as most famous cities in the rest of the world. When I was in England, China, Mongolia, and Japan, the expectations and the feelings from the heart were completely different from those in Jerusalem. I could say those cities that emerged in my mind were colorful as neon lights, but the color of Jerusalem was probably only black and white which liked an old photograph sleeping deeply in history. It only had history, a profound and heavy history, and it had passively entered this era with endless stories and tears. It still had the atmosphere of the city which this era did not exist. It appeared in the same picture as the Jews who wore conservative black traditional costumes. It was just like a joke made me watch a fantasy in a movie. We cautiously explored as I opened a scroll of paper which had been old and yellow, filled with words we could not understand. I could not bear to wake my granddaughter up, but I did it because I wanted her to see the difference in the city.

Jerusalem had a unique color. It was covered with dirt, sediments, and stories. It was beige. We came to the Middle East for the first time. We insisted that the picture of the Middle East was full of deserts, poor cities, lonely temples and churches which had become an unmistakable reality. The old city was the center of this color. Under the continuous raining, it could still not give off a fresh taste of color. Most people who knew that we traveled to Israel showed a hundred times fear more than ourselves. The armed conflict tended to be gentle. I took my granddaughter liked the most common grandfather and his grandchild in the city of Jerusalem. The Gaza Strip was a blockade zone that travelers could not enter in. We entered into Israel with a relatively optimistic mood, but we found that the scars and wounds left by the war not far away from this era where were still filled in the air. The urban development of Jerusalem maintained a puzzling period of time. Israeli soldiers armed with live ammunition would appear on the street and in the market. My granddaughter was a little bit scared. She held my hands tightly. I comforted her, "My dear, do not be afraid. They will not hurt you because you are a good girl."

I did not know if it was a stressful atmosphere or peace of mind. I came from far city which owned different background and history. I could not understand this city. I could not touch the tension of the Jews, and I could not understand the restraint of the Palestinians. But everyone who lived in this city did not suffer from the solemnity of certain unsurpassable missions. What I saw was that they stood in front of unfashionable clothing stores. People laughed at the coffee shop. In the market, they cared about the price of bunch of grapes. They could stop at the side of the road indulging in mobile phones liked old antique dresses in black religious dress. I looked down and saw my granddaughter wore the same dress as them. Her eyes stared at a grocery store on the street. I took her in and bought some snacks. She was extremely happy. Sometimes happiness was that easy.

The concerns of the news about the law and order issues in the area had affected my sensitive nerves. I used to read the images similar to the bar explosions repeated in the book had appeared in my brain for long time. Although I was immortal, my eyes were constantly watching my granddaughter because her life was not immortal. We avoided crowded areas. I was afraid that my granddaughter would have an accident. My granddaughter was in a good mood, and everything she saw from her eyes was beautiful. Maybe I did not understand, but I thought this may be a kind of belief. Jerusalem was a place close to the heaven. People here were so close to the center of their faith. In their eyes, there was no such thing as tourists who did not even have the possibility of religious conflicts. I was also worrying about the cityscape of Jerusalem. The waste piled beside the market was a unique sight that was hard to see in the center of a big city today. Citizens were very calm to look through these fluffy plastic wrappers and waste paper boxes exuding the taste of vegetables, or to find a place where they could wait for buses safely. We were strangers far away from here, standing in front of these miscellaneous things. I and my granddaughter were surprised to see these things that were not nauseating but it would make our moods mess up. The city had always been sacred in my mind, and if it needed to be pyrotechnics, it should be a different kind of pyrotechnics.

Jerusalem was not only faithful and solemn, but also optimistic and romantic. We saw the singer of entertainers sang intoxicating songs on the street of Jerusalem. When I and my granddaughter stopped to smile with appreciation, it was tantamount to break a certain stereotyping of the Jews. The whole world knew that the Jews were suffering and poor. They had suffered from a certain day in history to nowadays. But they were also romantic and full of optimism. Their youth was just like our cartoon characters in pursuit of passion and dreams. It also smooth the helplessness and dissatisfaction of the reality depended on music and the expectations. People with a history of suffering also had the right to enjoy romance and sunshine right now. It was not a smile on the face that broke the tragic fantasies about Jerusalem and the Jews from worldly outsiders. If tragedy would never repeat the same mistakes as before, that was really something worth looking forward to.

At dinner time, I took my granddaughter and chose a local restaurant. Because both of us were really sleepy, we ordered two cups of coffee to refresh our bodies. It was not easy to be a pure outsider in Jerusalem because you could easily be involved in many emotions. If you were satisfied with this, you would stuck on an incomprehensible appearance and you would not be able to look at yourself in embarrassing situation in this city which was far less than the fundamental. I restrained myself from keeping up with these topics and expressed my respect for history. My granddaughter had an incomparable expectation here. Ethnicity, culture, religion, the current situation and the fear of the current situation had become easier to overcome in front go the charming of the city of Jerusalem. Well, it did not mean the city without these elements. I had experience with an anxiety disorder while I was traveling in this city with my granddaughter. I was worried about travel, and certainly because I had not had such an experience with my granddaughter before. I was afraid that she would not like me.

The journey was always short and memorable. Where did the charming of Jerusalem come from? I did not think it could be said clearly for just a sentence. We had learned different culture. It was accompanied by the frequency of history and the story that emerged. Therefore, when we faced to this situation, it was hard to be calm. In a sense, Jerusalem was a city that belonged to most human beings. It was the heartland of their beliefs. It was the holy city that had been expecting to arrive, and it was the coordinates of the beacon with its unfailing beliefs. For me and my granddaughter who had different religious beliefs, describing here as just a destination for a trip was bias. There was no way to show its value. In fact, it brought us a shock which was higher than any city I had ever visited. My journey with my granddaughter was very pleasant, but the time to say goodbye was coming. I became sad. My granddaughter was also very reluctant to me. I promised to her I would take her to another place after a period of time. I gradually liked the feeling of getting along with my family. It was a very important time in my life.

[immortal-journal]

“The pain shouldn’t last longer than the person.”

— Mark Anthony

[immortal-journal]

Let them watch you bloom, it’s okay

[immortal-journal]

Love

Romance has always been fickle with me.  You would think as much, right?  I live and they die, it only makes sense that I would never find a true love, or one that would last anyways.  I sleep around, I find the occasional fleeting relationship, most times I am married with kids and end up leaving before they die or get curious about my seemingly ageless look.  At first, when I was just beginning to thrust myself into loving women, I was unsure of how to approach them.  Shy and timid, I never knew how to bring myself to love them or love their body.  Around men, I was fearless.  More often than not, men were stupid beasts when the world was just starting off, but after humanity had developed, the male population, by some miraculous happening, became suave and charming.  I became the “average male” with my bland looks and uninteresting personality.  I had seen it all, so why would I act desperate to gain the attention of a future love interest?

I think the longest I have lasted in a relationship was fifty years and the longest I have lasted without one (no sex, no girlfriend, no nothing) was close to fifty thousand.  It might have been longer, but after you’ve been alive for over a billion years, it becomes hard to remember the exact date of things.  Can you blame me?  One of my most memorable relationships was with a woman from the 16th century.  She was the baroness of England, a lasting daughter of Henry VII and later known as the Queen Consort of Scotland.  Around the early ages, most people were down on their luck, poor and starving, so I weaseled my way into European royalty and lived, on and off, one thousand years of my life sipping on expensive tea and addressing unimportant matters to my circumstance.  It was nice to overlook all the hardships of man for a while.  If I’m trying to enjoy my love-life, why not lay it down on silken sheets and feed it crumpets?

I was also involved with an incredibly powerful woman before the baroness’ time, one who is tenfold more recognizable and memorable, in terms of history.  You may know her by name - Joan - and you may know her by her title - Saint Joan of Arc.  A strong woman who I accompanied on many military campaigns, even though I was nameless and never appeared in scraps of history.  I try my best to keep away from any form of news or media, still to this day.  I don’t want to be poked and prodded by scientific experts and laboratory men.  Even so, Joan of Arc was a woman I’ll never forget.

I think that romance is fleeting.  On Earth, I’ve seen mortals speed through dozens of love interests in their puny lifespans and complain every step of the way.  I sit there, thinking, of why romance exists.  Why do so many people need to be dependent on others, especially to a stranger who simply looks handsome?  I sit and think, and I do that a lot.  One time, I watched a dysfunctional couple for months on end and aimlessly viewed life through their eyes, like a grandmother watching her soap operas.  I see love crash and burn, like it had never been there in the first place.  Breath-taking romance can easily morph into spiteful toxicity, and two passionate love makers only worsen the cause minute after minute.

But still, I choose to fall in love.  I love as best as I can.

If I had to roughly estimate, I would guess the number of marriages I’ve had over my life would be close to ~4,500, that’s including the legal and illegally married.  I cannot count the number of short lasting girlfriends, companions, and everything in between.  My children are dispersed all across the globe and some of them are probably smart enough to be on other planets, away from this world and finding new worlds of their own.  I don’t know why I have never attempted to achieve my dreams.  I suppose I have so much time that my goals all fizzle out, shortly, just like my relationships.

Men are difficult to love.  I’ve certainly spent many years with men and it seems like I’ve never found one that’s similar to a woman’s love.  Maybe I’m looking in the wrong place, but they seem less… Dramatic.  Emotionally dramatic, I should say; they undoubtedly have fragile egos.  And in all of my years of living, I’ve always found it funny that most religious followers have a stigma against homosexuality.  I was there to witness the first written scripture of the bible, on tablets, even giving my say in the matter when it was being drawn into the wet clay.  There was no mention of gay men and it seemed as if everybody did as they pleased.  The women were still oppressed by society, but I saw no hatred of one man loving another.  It’s funny how the world changes its mind so adamantly.

So, I loved men for a while and I got AIDS in return.  Oh well.  We all have to pay a price somehow.

I still yearn for love - one that will last longer than my Babalaya, be more fierce than Hera herself, love me better than any man, woman or child has ever loved me.  I want everlasting comfort, I yearn for it, I need it, but nothing will come and nothing will last.  Even though I beg for a companion at my side and cry when I do not receive their love immortal love, I don’t give up on my search.

I have the rest of my life to live.  I figure I’ll find my soulmate one of these days.

[immortal-journal]

2016 was trying in so many ways. Here’s to a better year ahead. Let’s keep that light shining somehow. 

[immortal-journal]

Mongolia

When I was sick in Mongolia, I thought my immortality was over. I felt so scared and strangely excited. People often thought too much when they were sick. I often wondered what was the significance of my immortality. I looked at the bed under my body, it did not exist for immortality. The meaning of the bed just let me sleep on it which had great significance to me. My laptop did not exist for immortality. It was just one of my entertainment, working tools, so it had great significance to me. None of my clothes, shoes, houses, cars existed for immortality, but they all made sense. I looked the meal in front of me. I did not eat anything. I was thinking if I did not eat these meals, did I just need to see it? The TV in front of me showed different movies, did it just use to imagine it? And fireworks bloomed in the dark night sky, did it just stay there and become wet? If all these things were to be immortal, life would almost lose all its meaning. The sickness came so suddenly that for a second, I was reminded of the atomic bomb war, black plague and all other diseases I had experienced in the past. At that time, I saw many people suffering from illness. Poor people could not afford the price of medicine, so they could only see their loved ones die. Rich people had the temporary renewal of their loved ones because they had enough money, but their lives were not immortal. I started to confuse medical treatment when people got sick.

During this period of time, I began to memorize the time in Mongolia. As a foreigner who just arrived in Mongolia, it was still not comfortable with the dry air here, but I was soon attracted by the blue sky and dazzling sunshine. I was looking forward to the upcoming journey. I met a beautiful Mongolian girl on the train. The sky in Ulaanbaatar was also blue, and the streets looked exactly like I had read in the book. There were many Korean restaurants and fast food chains on the streets, but I still liked the local food. Mongolian food was similar as Chinese food. I also love it so much! May be because of acclimatized, I began to vomit and diarrhea. This feeling was really bad. I was shocked by such symptoms. I did not know what kind of medicine I should take or whether I should go to see a doctor.

Mongolian cattle and sheep ran wildly on the vast prairie. They were more free and healthy. I laid in bed and did not have any power, but my mind still remembered the delicious beef and lamb. My favorite beef with spices, stewing loose rotten,  was accompanied by mash potatoes and vegetable salad. I could eat a large bowl of rice. It was simply delicious on the earth. I swore I would go to taste this delicious food again after I got better. Sometimes people did not know how to learn lessons. Facing to delicious food, I was the same as moral people who were irresistible to food. Perhaps, I relied on my immortality, so I would easily indulge myself. Now, I was sick. I did not know whether I was still an immortal life. If my life was no longer immortal, then I wanted to taste the most delicious food in this limited life.

I spent more money in Mongolia because the prices of here were so expensive, so this ordinary meal in Ulaanbaatar was almost five dollars. Fortunately, I lived in the hostel which was free to use the kitchen. I and some friends here began to cook our own meals. Mongolia's high living expenses not only reflected in daily expenses, but also reflected on tourism project in Mongolia. I found several travel agencies inquiries, but their basic travel items cost between 65-90 US dollars per person per day. But this price did not include accommodation and meals! Winter was not a popular season for tourism, so I could not expect carpool with other people. I would rather stay at the hostel instead of traveling for this price. Fortunately, in addition to travel agencies, there was also a nonprofit organization called "Ger to Ger". This organization provided visitors to the yurt to experience the opportunities of pastoral life while it was also helping the local poor herder families. “Ger to Ger” handed over the majority of tourists' payments to pastoral families, but they would not permanently support the same families. More pastoral families had such opportunities to increase their incomes. For tourists who prefered "responsible travel", it was more meaningful to be able to help to increase more income for the local poor families. I found the address of "Ger to Ger" office which was provided by Lonely Planet. Because of the off-season, now I only had two options: 4 days 3 nights which were 30 to 40 dollars or 6 days 5 nights which were around 65 dollars. When I was indecisive, an Australian girl came and booked the 6 days 5 nights’ project immediately. I was surprised. Because there was no other tourists, I thought I would spend next my trip with this girl. It was better to have two people together on the prairie instead of myself. So I chose the same project as that Australian girl.

It was commendable that the organization would be responsible for providing brief cultural training to tourists prior to departure. One day before departure date, two of us came to the office. The person who responsible for the project started to give us a lesson. She spent more than one hour we to briefly introduce the general situation of the herdsmen's life, the culture of the yurts, including the meaning of decorations, welcoming etiquette and so on. We not only looked at photos of past tourists, but also learned about Mongolian. For me, it was all new knowledge. At the same time, we were given a booklet which contained not only these teaching information, but also a few families we would visit. We would take this booklet with us and we could still review Mongolian words which were so hard for us.

Early in the next morning, I carried my own luggage while I was holding the official ticket which was given by leader of the project to us in advance. I arrived at the bus station by myself and found the right bus by using my body language to communicate. After a 4-hour driving to Budajak Station, I got off and waited for the first local family to pick me up. Although I did not know each other at all, I believed that in such a remote place, my appearance as a tourist was so apparent. About half an hour, a woman wearing Mongolian traditional costume came out of a green truck with her husband who looked slightly humpbacked. They were approaching to us. Although the leader of the project said herders did not speak English, the woman who looked very strong had no problem with communicating with us in simple English. She said she would take me and that Australian girl to the restaurant next to us. After finishing eating lunch, then they would take us to home. Lunch was still delicious and my favorite beef and mash potato. Mongolia’s big dish allowed both of us feel very full. Unfortunately, the car was broken when we were ready to leave after lunch.

The weather was a little bit cold, and I did not have enough clothes to wear, so my body was shaking. On the opposite of the road was the car repair shop. During 2 hours waiting, I was impressed by the fact that the car repairer deliberately tried to molesting the woman who came to pick us up several times. The woman immediately smiled and pushed his hands away. At the same time, she taught the car repairer as teaching a naughty child. Her husband also helped to repair the car. He did not look up this situation. When we got bored, the car finally got fixed. The car bumped about an hour to arrive to their home. When I saw two yurts, I suddenly realized we would spend next six days in this prairie where had no electricity, network, and toilet.

After we put down our luggages, the host man started to take us to ride camels. This was also one of the experiences included within the project: riding camels, riding horses, visiting shamanistic worship places. Maybe because of the climate of Mongolia, bactrian camels were also furry and cute. The wind was particularly large in the evening. When we came to the farther summit of a mountain, there was snowing. My face felt painful when the wind was scratching on my face. I began to sneeze, by the way, I borrowed a thick coat from host man. Our only activity here was to ride camels, so in addition to an hour of riding camels every day, the rest of the time both of us felt boring.

In the morning, we got up early and saw the woman crowded milk. In the evening, I saw very special sunset. The sky was pink, the sunset was pink, sheep were cute. As a foreign tourist, in fact, prairie life was still very boring. Every morning I ate breakfast. After eating breakfast, I had to find something to do to pass the time. I was waiting for lunch, after lunch, I repeated the same thing to pass my own time... ... So, I was sick after I spent my third days here because of the changeable weather. During the night, I found my body were very hot, but my hands and feet were cold. I was sure I had a fever. I was shocked. I saw a vast picture of the surrounding area, feeling hopelessly. Maybe my immortality would go through the end. I might die soon. One day? One week? One month? I did not know……

Fortunately, my fellow Australian girl was majoring in medical professional. She discovered my condition and began to help me to relieve my discomforts. The conditions of the grassland were very limited and resources were not much. We could only use the most conservative way to alleviate the fever. For foreigners, we insisted on drinking cold water even if we had fever. So the Australian girl poured some cold water to me and let me have a good sleep. My head was still super hot and there was no sign which showed my fever getting better. Pastoralists in the grassland did not know what happened on me. The Australian girl explained to them with body language. They immediately boiled some hot water and let me drink it. My stomach was very uncomfortable because of sudden cold and sudden hot. I started to diarrhea. Mongolia would have snow at night. Wind and snow would infiltrate from the gap under the yurt. In the morning, my bed was full of snow. I lost my sleeping bag at the bus stop on the first day when I was in Budajak. The Australian girl lent me her sleeping bag. The herdsmen gave me two more quilts. The sleeping bag was written which could resist -10°, but I still felt so cold and woke up at night time.

Except sleeping, herdsmen also cooked hot soup for me. I wrapped my quilt and rested in the yurt for several days. I carefully thought about whether or not I should take some medicine with me on my journey. My fever started to get better. The temperature gradually became normal. This made me see new hope. When I did not completely get better, we moved to the second family. The economic status of the second family was relatively better than the first one. The second family specifically prepared a yurt only for guests. The decoration inside was very simple and there were only some necessities. After the host helped us make fire, they left here. From these two families, I could see that they had known how to treat guests well, and “Ger to Ger” had also brought a lot of help and benefits to help each family to raise their economic statues.

I stayed in the yurt most of the time. The first household should mention that I was sick with the second family, so the second household did not often bother me. In the evening, they would cook some hot soup for me. I had to say that I was getting better everyday in such a shabby environment, even though I did not eat any medicine. Until my fever had completely gone and I was a little bit better than before, I started playing with them. In the evening, we chatted together. The Australian girl was Australian-Chinese, but she did not speak Chinese at all. Because she was too lazy to explain so much, she introduced herself as a Chinese.

Unfortunately, Mongolians did not like Chinese was true. I felt a bit awkward atmosphere at that moment. Suddenly I realized that there was racial discrimination everywhere.

When my illness began to disappear, my mood seemed to be more calm than before. It was just liking a walk from life and death, although this was only smallest illness. It would not destroy my immortal body. I realized that the essence of life was the most intrinsic and concrete content. I could rub beautiful flowers and harvest fruit into the context of life, nourishing my life, enriching my life, and realizing my life. Many people had only a few decades of life. I did not want everyone should leave any regrets for themselves. Suppressing emotions too much was unnecessary. If you wanted to laugh, then just laughed. If you wanted to cry, then just cried. If you wanted to love, then just loved.

In life, regardless of success or failure, joy and pain, up and down, honor and disgrace, they were all as natural as the flow of water where it came from, and where it would go. The world did not separate as black and white. There were often a series of intermediate colors between black and white. Crossing the line of life and death, I began to understand that loneliness, pain, and failure were indispensable condiments in life. Therefore, I would be kind to them. It was the same to be kind to the real life. Although I had an immortal body, I was still an ordinary person. Now, I could calmly face my own ordinary because not everyone could be successful. Being a man was my lifelong business. As long as I had struggled, pursued, I did not care if I failed. I began to think if my life was end, what should I do? This kind of consideration would make me act and do things that I would like to do, but I had never done before.

I thought now I really knew myself and also belonged to myself. I accepted myself in a comfortable, kind and honest way. I thought the next thing I wanted to think about was marriage and family. I had already understood how to comfort myself and I learned to point myself  a brightness of hope in the endless darkness. In the past, I saw people very simply. Now, I did not think people and things as simple as I used to do. I had traveled many places. It was not necessary to change others, but myself. Although youth was beautiful, it would fade with the passage of time, but the youthful mood was a constant landscape in the life. I did not die, I continued to live. I continued my thinking, my life. Maybe it was too bad to get sick. I was full of yearning for health. I missed the happiness I had ever had before. I was running and jumping freely. After this illness, I would catch it tightly and cherish it.

[immortal-journal]

“Let’s go together. I don’t know where the end will be..but let’s go together. It won’t be lonely that way.”

— City Hunter

[immortal-journal]

[immortal-journal]

Babalaya

I spent months aimlessly wandering trying to shake off this depression. Desert roads filled with the most miserable looking creatures - myself included. I walked right into Ancient China. Before, I had fought in The Crusades, and it left me feeling even more hopeless. At least you people believed in gods. I had no family or beliefs to make this suffering of immortality less shitty. Nirvana does not apply to me. There is no death to release me.

I chose to live by the Yellow River (which was not too far from the ancient city of Chang’an right along the Silk Road). I figured I could garden there and sell food to traders. I slept outside by the garden.

You know, you really impressed me with how quickly you picked up in learning other languages. There you were traveling from place to place trading goods confident in explaining what you wanted to trade, and what you expected in return. Your caravans were filled with your successful excursions. I saw those hungry greedy eyes everywhere. You almost felt like a god, didn't you?

But you were dying along the way attempting to bring home jars of powder and crushed leaves. Can you imagine your reaction if a future being told you about the invention of a spice aisle in grocery stores? You wanted to take what you felt should be yours. You would ambush the weak.  The more you humans found out about other humans in different parts of the world, the more you wanted their shit; their resources. Make this, covet that. Trade this, steal that.

I made money off of selling food from my garden along the Silk Road. The post was not too far from the city. It was my version of a rest stop. Surprisingly, the river did not flood during my time there. Or maybe it did, and I didn’t notice. We experience time differently. I also do not need food like you need food. I can sleep for decades without needing a midnight snack. Earning money was not for my benefit though. It was for Babalaya, my elephant.

I got Babalaya from a trader in Chang’an named Zhang. I figured I had a century to kill and having a pet elephant would be better than picking my nose for a century. “The larky way she tossed her head about. Her funny figure: all that bulk, and no ass (from the rear she looked like a navvy slumped over the bar in a Dublin pub)” (30). She was highly intelligent and sweet. Babalaya was named after Zhang’s late daughter of the same name. Babalaya (the human) passed away four years ago. She was only ten years old and was still loved years after she had gone. I never loved anyone after they had died. I don’t think I had ever experienced love at this point. Just depression over losing humans in general made me want to drink for centuries. Why can’t you be immortal? Why am I immortal? Why do I have to be left behind?

Babalaya’s name was a namesake. They wanted to preserve her memory, and have her name live on. I thought this was a joke at first. I was ignorant at the time surprisingly. Anyway, Zhang needed more money for his family. His wife was pregnant again. I’ll admit, I gave them money because I needed something to kill my depression. It was not for the integrity of helping a family in need. I handed him the money and he gave me this three foot tall elephant that carried the namesake of their little girl.

 From when she was an infant, Babalaya helped me garden. Yes, Babalaya the elephant. She liked to tilt her head whenever I explained things to her. I told her how trading works, how to garden - heck, I even told her about the circle of life. At the end of each talk, I would ask her if she understood me. She would nod her head in agreement (I’m assuming she observed this from my interactions with other humans in the city).

    At night, she needed to know that I was by her side. Babalaya had the habit of placing her trunk around my shoulder while we slept. She was a constant “shoulder of protection.” We lived by the Silk Road, and I had warned her about traders wanting her ivory tusks. I didn’t mean to scare her, but she did need to know that you humans can harm animals out of greed.

    I always thought Babalaya looked awkwardly adorable whenever she slept. I remember one night, I woke up and felt like walking along the river. This time at night always seems surreal. Magic is magnified. Either that or anxiety. Babalaya woke up before I returned. I wasn’t far, but I heard her crying. It was a funny sound from her trunk, but not happy sounding like Louis Armstrong’s music. More somber. I quickly went back to her and comforted her. I must admit, this was the first time I felt important. I know I sound really soppy, but this elephant brought meaning to my life. I’ve felt useful for people in battles and war, but this was the first time I felt important. Needed. Loved. Isn’t that what all of you look for in life too? Feels like parenthood. I wonder if Zhang felt like this - this feeling that comes with parenthood. You may scoff because I’m talking about an elephant, but I’ve had kids before Babalaya. I do have to admit, she’s my favorite child. I don’t even remember the names of the other kids I had and would later have. Sad, right? I wonder why that is...

Anyway, Babalaya helped me garden a lot. She picked fruit and vegetables with me. She helped water the plants with her little trunk. I grew peach trees and other things, but I can’t remember the specifics now. I can only remember peaches. Peaches were her favorite. She never took one without asking. Not that I would care if she ate them without me looking. From the very beginning, she understood me. Not just understanding what I was telling her, but also my abnormality from other humans. I never had to explain to her who or what I was. She knew who, and I never had to be anything else. I wonder if this identity crisis with the world is why I was also depressed before and after Babalaya was in my life.

Do you believe that animals can have a higher intelligence than humans? I sure as hell can. I remember one night when Babalaya and I were outside by the garden. She was a young adult by this time. 7 feet tall. I had finished telling her about your earlier ancestors and hers. Just then, she starts blowing her trunk angrily and facing the direction of the road. It was parallel to us, half a mile away. I did not see anything at first. Before I could observe the area longer, she hoisted me up and put me on the branch of the peach tree. She then stood erect and alert. I then saw what she was looking at. It was a caravan of thieves shouting and yelling and galloping in their horses to our direction. There were twelve of them. They circled Babalaya shouting in a language I had heard from the opposing army in The Crusades. I saw them point to her tusks as they taunted her with their fire torches.

I jumped down from the tree, but they were unphased by my presence. It was twelve against two, and one of them was in the circle surrounded by fire torches. I told them to leave, but one of the guys spit in my face. Babalaya saw this and got mad as hell. Like the hands on an analog clock, she pointed out her trunk. She leveled them with the riders and spun clockwise while simultaneously knocking them off their horses with all of her might. One of the men burned her foot. She stomped on his head. More men tried to attack. You know, if you can read this and accept that I have killed people in battle, I hope you can accept that Babalaya is still a good elephant. She too has killed men. Seven of them. She kept crushing them as if they were little ants. The other five gave up. Now, remember when I asked you if you believed that animals were smarter than humans? If an elephant crushed my comrade’s head, I would leave. I would not wait for six more of my men to be killed the same way before deciding that maybe, just maybe, we should get the hell out. Babalaya ate as many peaches as she wanted that night while I tended to her injuries. She healed fine.

Now that I think about it, there is a huge difference in when you spend time with someone who really knows who you are. Babalaya knew I was immortal. She’s the only one who knew me as an Immortal. I never had to leave her to conceal my identity like the way I would have to leave whichever family I had after a certain amount of time before my kids started looking older than me. “I raised her from infant to invalid” (30).

I watched Babalaya develop more wrinkles over the years. My face remained the same. We used to walk around together a lot back and forth to the city. I got her special treats that I couldn’t grow in the garden myself. We would also visit Zhang and his family in the city. They had a baby girl within the first year I was given Babalaya. Later, she would ride on Babalaya’s back when we visited. We decreased the visiting before it became obvious that I was not aging. Babalaya was good at accepting impermanence. Lots of people you meet in life have a limited amount of time. Some more than others.  

Over the years, I watched Babalaya’s pace slow down. I would slow down to match her pace.  We resided around different cities in China. I could not find peaches anywhere else. It was a shame. She liked trying out other food though. Every night, as per routine, her trunk would still wrap around my shoulders. I think she did this because she could tell that I had been depressed for quite some time before she came along. I always thought she did that because she was afraid to be alone and to get hurt. But now that I am recounting, she must have known that I had been alone and hurting too.

One day, I asked her if she wanted to go anywhere particular. We had seen The Wall, the sea, the mountains… everything I could show this elephant before she too would leave me for that eternal rest. We had spent so many decades travelling, residing, then travelling again. Babalaya nodded a yes. She had an idea of where she wanted to go. So I followed her for several months until we ended up at the same garden. The one she grew up in. The peach trees were still there. Oh how I wish a tree of everlasting life existed like the one in the stories I had heard from soldiers in the Crusades! Babalaya had already accepted impermanence. I haven’t to this day. I never could follow Buddhism. I suppose my attachment to living things is why I’m suffering.

We spent Babalaya’s last years in this garden. On the last day of her life, she rested in her normal position. It was the middle of the day, bright as ever, but I knew what was happening. She was dying. I had seen this so many times. 113 years with this kind spirit. I went to her and curled up crying as she placed her trunk around my shoulders one last time. She let out her final breaths, and then I felt her trunk release from my shoulders.  

I buried her under the peach trees. I have to admit, digging a 10 foot hole was hard, but I had time. I had a lot of it. I had forever. She was the only living soul to love me for who I was… still Am.