[The Early Morning Talk Show Host Returns]

There is smoke coming out of the upper deck of the ship. Black and cloudy and horrible and flaming, its presence only ravages the spirit of the ship’s crewmembers. Blazing from down below deck, the fire rages upward rapidly and surprises them to their horror. Screams and shouts are echoing from everywhere, bouncing off the wooden walls of the deck. The fire becomes more and more uncontrollable as it reaches the fuel room. Bursting from the sides were more smoke and more heat. The burning sun only aggravates the fire’s spread and scorch. The engine has stopped running; its rudder is crushed by one of the ship’s burnt and fallen beam. Crackling sound of dry sheets of silk and satin being burnt is so audible from down below from the store chamber. People are running as fast as their feet could, aimlessly and with panic. They grab what they could and hold on to what they see but there is no where safe to put them. Some have already jump overboard while some are still dispatching the rowboats. Time is running out.

"There is no use hurrying about like that, all around us is just sea water! Regroup! Regroup!"
"Save yourselves! Save yourself, Captain!"
"Throw down the barrels! They will keep us afloat!"
"Get me out of here! It’s hot! It’s hot!"
"Prepare abandon ship! Swim to safety!"

At the other end of the ship, a young man is struggling to comprehend the situation. He was locked up inside his office all night long and with all the route maps and trade records. This young navigator is horrified by the shrill sounds coming from the main bridge. Then, he notices the smoke and the fire and how menacing they are. All around him, men are saving their skins. They are fleeing desperately. The ship is on the verge of abandonment. Small clusters of fire and swirling spirals of smoke are slowly appearing under his shoes. The navigator soon realizes the cause. He looks up above and sees the captain dancing in mixed confusion of instinctive fear and blind bravado. He is despondent with his fleeing crew and utterly hopeless to himself but he wishes them or himself no anger. In his eyes are sheer willingness of a true man. The captain will stay and go down with his beloved ship. The navigator feels that he must save that man’s life and sanity; he rushes towards the captain.

"Captain, captain, you must leave the ship!’
"Never!"
"Please captain, the fire will sink the ship down. We must hurry!’
"Never! This ship is my pride and joy, my blood and sweat!"
"Captain!"
"All will be well for you. You are young and talented. You will be your own ship’s captain one day. Leave me here!"
"But captain, why must you insist? Come with me!"
"Never, never I say!"
"But captain!"
"Go boy, go save yourself!"
"Captain!"
"We are fated to our own destiny and mine ends here. Now go!"

In a single shove, the young navigator lands on his buttocks. The captain is not moving from his stand. His eyes are fixed to the open sea in front of him, although the dark smoke rises far and wide. He will stay and die as the ship’s captain. That is his request.

"Captain, why all this? Why must you die?"
"You are too young to understand. Soon, you will know."
"You filthy bastard! Answer my question!"
"Because our page’s layout is horrible, that’s why, you fool!"
"What?"
"The layout is repulsive!"
"What is wrong with you captain?"
"It’s ugly! It’s horrible! The layout is ugly!"
"The page layout is ugly?"
"The page layout is dreadfully ugly!"
"Ugly?"
"Ugly! Ugly as in horrible! And horrendous!"
"Ugly?"
"Ugly! Ugly! Ugly! Ugly! Ugly!"

I wake up to the sound of the alarm clock buzzing madly. I lift my heavy head and stare at the red LED on the clock. It is around five in the morning and I need to do my dawn prayer before the sun starts to rise. I push the bed cover to the sides and rub the back of my thighs. There are beads of sweat dripping over my forehead and they are as cold as my lips. They land on the pillow next to me. The warmth of the pillow under my head must have strained my neck. It surely has been a bad nightmare because if it were not, then I would have woken up to the stinging pain from the misplaced pillow under my neck. With one mighty stroke, I slam the alarm clock into silence. I exhale a deep breath and praise God for waking me up to live my life another day. All is going to be well.

"Hey there."
"Oh, morning. What’s up?"
"Morning. Are you awake?"
"I think so. Why?"
"Nothing. Are you okay?"
"What?"
"I thought that, you know, after such a bad nightmare like that, you might be a little…"
"A little what? Shaken?"
"Horrified."
"Nah. Just a nightmare."
"I know. Just look at you."
"What was that all about anyway?"
"I think your head is trying to tell you something."
"Yeah? What?"
"Don’t ask me. Ask it."
"Ask it? What the hell is wrong with you? Ask my head?"
"No, ask yourself what it means."
"And how am I supposed to do that, you asshole?"
"Listen to your own voice, man."
"You are kidding me, right?"
"No."
"Can’t you just tell me what it means and skip the crap?"
"Just do as I say, alright!"
"Okay, okay, lighten up. No need to be my dad all of a sudden."
"Jackass."
"Okay, what do I do now?"
"Say this in your head: ‘What the fuck was that, oh head?’"
"Like that?"
"Yeah, it’ll work. Don’t worry."
"With the F word?"
"Yes, especially with the F word!"
"Okay, here goes."

I don’t know. I am not sure what. I think I am too involved with this online journal. The legions of admirers, the close scrutiny of peers and my own sense of self-criticism and self-imposed high expectations are all what draw me to it. How taxing it is! Every single day I sacrifice my time in front of the PC, wanting to provide the best to please all of my dear readers. I would do anything for them. All I want is to be liked and loved and adored. But all this comes with a price. Sometimes more than just two to three hours per day I do what I do to update and prepare and I thought that it would stop there. I realized soon that it gets into my sleep and my shower and my meals. I just can’t run away from thinking what to write or what to say or whom to respond and who is reading it. I am too obsessed with my own work and this journal that I ignore my responsibilities to God, to friends, to family and to myself. I become the persona that I utilized. I become more of a stranger to myself. I am not my real self anymore.

Then, a faithful reader berates my layout publicly, calling it horrible and not pleasing. All is crushing down on me. Before this, it was just I but now, it’s my readers. To the already grieving me, another one adds that the page is not what it’s used to be, funny and thoughtful and real. All now is just plain egocentric and mushy and dull. I just couldn’t bear it any longer. One after another, they start to confront me and say hurtful things about my only pride and joy. They suggest repairs and renovations. They attack my personality and opinions. To them, I am merely a writer hiding behind the keyboard, all faceless and without emotions and feelings like any other man. They demand the glorious past that is impossible to conjure once more. They want that other man that used to be me. He is gone and free and distant. All is left is me but I am no longer the one they want. How disappointing!


"Hey."
"Oh, yeah. Hi.’
"So? What did it say?"
"Oh dear God. How awful it’s become. Sigh."
"What?"
"Nothing. Just nothing."
‘Come on, man! Tell me!"
"Please. Leave me alone."
"Hey, come on. Let me help you."
"No, please. Go, just go."
"I want to help."
"If you sincerely want to help me, then leave!"
"But I am part of you, man! I’ve helped you before!"
"No, I need some time alone. Just leave."
"But…"
"Please."
"Sigh. Okay."
"Thank you."
"I am sorry if I ever hurt you."