Tuesday, March 15, 2005

Conversations with God

I'm sitting there on the couch, minding my own business, when the cacophony of construction sounds appear out of nowhere.

"What the..???" was all I can think of. This can't be right.

Stepping out into the balcony, I see that men are doing renovation work on the apartment right next to me, which as it happens, shares the same balcony and wall with me.

All this on top of my recent gastric-throw-up-everything-including-water-fest, bronchitis, heartburn, problems applying for higher education, money woes which lead to borrowing money from friend and now leads to figuring out how to pay back friend, having to move out of my apartment to my dad's friend's apartment a few floors below, which smells like a dead cat. And now I have to contend with mind-numbing drilling and hammering for as long as I'm awake?

"Why God why???" I shout.

"Because I can," he says, leaning back on the rattan chair, still deeply absorbed in molding something out of clay. "Plus, you've been living the good life before this what...susah-susah sikit pun..."

"Look, dude, you know that's not true," I counter. "It wasn't that great. In fact, many would deem it horrible and if they were to plot a graph based on my childhood, I would be an axe murderer right now."

"But you had a roof over your head, didn't starve...ok, at least, not much, and you didn't break a bone.Others live in the street, starved to death, broke all the bones in their body, and only have 2 channels on their tv. Wouldn't that already be cause to celebrate?"

"Fine, fine, I see your point," I reply, exasperated. There's no beating this guy. "You know, if you weren't the most powerful being in the entire universe, I'd jump on you and kill you now."

"Sure you would," says God. Standing up, he puts the clay figure he's been molding up to the light and examines it from all angles. "Ok, this looks done," and with that confirmation he puts the figure close to his mouth and blows life into it. The thing automatically gets concscious, sputters, kicks, and then falls to the floor clutching its throat.

"Oh, shit, it's not built for this atmosphere," he remembers. Taking out a jar from thin air, he puts the creature in it and then seals it tight. A strange yellow mist appears in the jar.

"What is that thing?" I ask, looking at a creature that seems to resemble Gollum, if he was yellow, had 8 arms, and had his hair done by a topiary artist.

"This," he replies, putting the jar on the coffee table, "will be the dominant creature in a planet 100 million light years away. It will take over the planet, kill all the animals, pollute it recklessly, and then claim they're perfectly made in the image of me, and will kill each other claiming I told them to."

"Gee, that's original," I retort.

Pulling out a roll of cigarettes from behind his ear, God places it in between his lips, and with a point at the tip, a streak of lightning zig zags in from the open window to the tip, lighting it up.

"Hey, hey, hey, no smoking indoors man! The ash will get all over the carpets! Can't you see?" I shout.

"It's ok, there won't be any ashes," he says, smiling.

"Anyway, why on earth are you smoking?"

"Indestructible lungs," says God, thumping his chest. At the same rhythm as the thumps, a rumbling of thunder could be heard, somewhere in the vicinity.

"Woops," says God, peering out of the balcony. "I think I hit someone."


"Nah, just kidding. Anyway, I gotta go." Placing the jar under the arm, He waves and disappears with the words "Be nice" ringing endlessly in the air.

"Ok, I will."


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