My Wife, She Left Me… My…

[Title inspired by “My Mother She Killed Me, My Father He Ate Me: Forty New Fairy Tales”, a book published in 2010. I thought the title was awesome.]

One person I’d like to talk to – face-to-face – is the doctor who told my dad that I absolutely should not drink alcohol because it harms the formation and survival of my brain cells, which can never really form in a way that they actually survive! That I am always going to have a flawed memory, that my new brain cells would absolutely not survive, but that alcohol would kill them (the cells which are going to die in a few hours anyways)! I, of course, forgot his name. And his face. Hell, I don’t even know where his hospital or clinic was. Maybe in some fantasy land where utmost care ought to be taken of things that quickly die. Like a few hours. Or a night! While ensuring a fee for him! Oh! The dumb doctors!

The other person I’d like to talk to is the guy at my work – a non-governmental organization that is supposed to do social work, mind you – who said I wouldn’t be paid! I naturally wonder how he ended up working for a NGO (while harboring fantasies of enslavement!). In the US, such people would likely work at a Walmart. In Nepal, because NGOs often make more money than shops (even superstores), even absolute dumb nuts like that end up working in organizations that work for social welfare! (Thankfully, my parents now say that they will give me money to register an NGO, my very own NGO. I think I have already written about having an NGO before, which actually even made some short movies – three that I can remember – and I think all the movies I was responsible for.)

Well, my parents, who ensure that I never have any money, have at least now come to see the light and have said that they will not intern me again. Well, at least my mother has said that. From a certain angle, I am glad that my brother thinks that our parents – despite the mental illnesses they suffer from and with their very-outdated and very-bourgeois values  – are never wrong. And that if they were having a tough time living with a mentally handicapped son (who also shows some other common symptoms that are inevitable for Traumatic Brain Injury survivors), surely that was who the problem was with. How could something be wrong with a father who suffers from hypertension and a very high blood pressure, or a mother who suffers from acute chronic depression?

I’ve been interred so frequently that some folks I know – and not people I know from the rehab, mind you – tell me that they hope my parents haven’t locked me up in a rehab again!

Well, it certainly seems that maybe the best thing was… well, I won’t even go there. By the way, TBI (Traumatic Brain Injury) survivors are also at a very high risk of depression. And even in general, I am a depressed person. I think I have been on medications for depression before. Not much I can do about that. But think about alternative stories. The what-ifs.

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About VTEN, a Nepali rapper who was arrested because his lyrics were not “something you could hear with your parents!”

The consequences of killing Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi 

How Airbnb Is Silently Changing Himalayan Villages by Shanu Athiparambath

The Betrayal of the Kurds by Peter W. Galbraith (Thanks to deft Russian diplomacy, that ambition—which could have reignited the Syrian civil war just as it was winding down—appears to have been largely thwarted. But it is hard to imagine a more calamitous outcome for the United States, the Kurds, NATO, and possibly Turkey itself.)/. Turkey’s Operation Peace Spring (an Orwellian designation even by modern military standards)’