The Stormy Weather

I was getting ready to go to the store for some red beans, which is something one should always keep plenty of at home. I thought I have them until I realize that I have run out. The kind I want is not always in stock in the Asian stores around here–each bean bigger, more smoothy when cooked. Once in desperation I tried a red bean package from Wegman’s and to my dismay that’s a different kind of red bean–it tastes less sweet and almost kidney bean like.

The sky was not looking promising. Dark clouds were rising at a corner. From the instant weather on my cell, there’s a 55% chance of raining. How do they come to the number 55? I always wonder, but probably would never know. I thought if I don’t go now–almost 6PM–and it ends up in the 45%, I will consider myself too cautious; alternatively if I do go and it ends up raining, I will consider myself thoughtless or even reckless. Isn’t it depressing when the merit of one’s action is judged by the result?

There’s another reason why I want to go out and walk around the store a little–to ponder a little more on what I just read. I think cooped up in my air-conditioned home is not the best thing for my reading. Breathing the natural hot humid air is probably better for my mind.

I just read “A Letter on Justice and Open Debate” and the much longer rebuttal “A More Specific Letter on Justice and Open Debate”, and feel something that I have always felt–other people are having a lot of fun debating and counter debating, shouting and shouting back, while we immigrants are completely oblivious to what’s going on. Yes, we work every minute, save every penny, talk about practical issues concerning food and money and survival. We live and die in quiet diligent desperation, but we completely miss the fun, the fight.

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