Dulce for the Monks

It's that time of year again. That time of year where you have to be extra careful of what you do, where you go, and who you see because the gates of the afterworld are opened and the spirits (good and trifling) are set loose upon us unsuspecting living souls. You know, right?

Well, I suppose if you're outside of the Buddhist religion, you might have overlooked that this month bad things are more prone to happen because of the dead souls that run rampant causing trouble on Earth. Anyhow, if you don't, just go get a Buddhist book about it and you'll be up to par.

As for now, at this point in the story, me and my family are about to go to temple to pray for our innocent souls and to plead to our ancestors to protect us from uncomely demon-folk who may get in our path.

This is the reason I could not go to my friends dinner party that he invited me to the other day which I had been looking forward to. But me, being the devout Buddhist (YEA RIGHT! haha) decided that staying up drinking and smoking with good people wouldn't be the best thing to do the night before you have to burn incense to your deceased grandmother.

And its also the reason I didn't go out with some other people who had invited me to an outing for my girlfriend's graduation. They were going clubbing or something or the other and I could have met my other friend's new boyfriend from Atlanta who is not of the Asian variety which makes things even funner, don't you think?

And since when do I get invited to so many places in such a short span of time. Since when did I develop a religious conscience and why did it sprout up just when this social circle magically formed around me when I wasn't looking?

But it doesn't matter because now I'm here in front of 20 lotus sitting Buddha statues basking in their revery. I bet my friends are all having delicious hangovers, laughing at their last-night indescretions, and thinking of the greasy breakfast they'll be having at 2 pm in the afternoon. Those bastards, how I envy them and their throbbing brains.

Dad and uncle were unloading the van because mom got the notion that the Buddhist monks were avid fans of ring pops and sour straws, so she gave them three cases of each kind. We have a convenience store so it would be foolish of us not to take advantage of our plentitude of candy disposition. Dad complained to my mother all the way to the temple in the car that monks don't eat candy and that we were being silly. But mom was unwavering in her stance. She said the monks would know what to do with it and she'd have an extra large lotus leaf to sit on in the afterlife because of her generosity. Where would dad be sitting then?

I was a bit embarassed too. But in the end my apathy won out. I imagined the monks actually wide eyed with big smiles on their faces reveling in the sugary treasures. Because up till then, they had only been feasting on stir fried mushrooms and dried ginger. They'd be running around the botanical gardens with oversized ring pops, one on each finger, licking uncontrollably. During prayer, the head monk would have to chastise some for taking licks of their rings during the meditation hours. And some would sneak a sour straw into their mouths while he wasn't looking. And just before they went to bed, they would all see who could stick the most sour straws to their bald heads, remembering the times...so long ago, when they had hair.