I dreamed of a change in the skyline. Waiting for a breeze to gust, a brisk morning air to nibble at my skin, or for the heavens to open up and drench our thirsty terrain. I walked outside with pep in my step, feeling good about the world and all of the magical possibilities zinging across the universe. I looked up the street, then down, then back up again. A vacant curb giggled at my confusion. My truck was there last night. I turned around and noticed Nicole’s car doors wide open and various toys and garments tossed about in all directions. It took a moment to sink in. I was not sure what emotion would rise to the surface and take over the situation. A few of them bubbled to the surface, but I brushed them away until I could absorb the reality of the moment. After I placed a call to the police we found out through our neighbors that a number of cars on our street were broken into, but mine was the only one taken. I sat on our front patio and pondered.
A sense of violation came first. The sensation crawled on my skin like an ornery serpent until it dissolved into anger. I let the anger linger on my tongue. I tried to savor it, to bathe in it, but the acrid flavor poisoned my mouth and I spat it out on the concrete. All I could think was ‘this sucks, it does, but in a broad perspective of the spinning world, nobody was harmed, and in the end it’s just a truck that will hopefully be recovered.’ My four year old daughter, Grace, smiled at me and said “it’s o.k. Daddy, they’ll find your truck. Don’t be sad.” It was difficult to be morose after that smile.
A few hours after the incident news broke about Robin Williams’s death. Tributes poured in from all over the world. I thought of his comic genius, his incessant pool of energy, his unique soul, and the iconic roles he played. What a loss, what a destruction of an amazing light. He was one of the only actors who touched all of the major emotions in our beings. We could laugh hysterically at his many zany characters, we could cry with him as he counseled us (Good Will Hunting), or we could be inspired by him to seek out what truly pleases our souls (Dead Poets Society). I thought of all of this, but then was overpowered by what almost every tribute said about him; that he was one of the kindest people they had ever met. What a genuine legacy. My core shifted and I was consumed by true loss, by anyone, anywhere, for whatever had befallen upon them. True gut-wrenching loss disseminated across the globe in so many hearts, for so many reasons, and these feelings buried the loss of a few material possessions. I discovered peace and let the cosmic forces take control. It is this loss of light, of passion, of hope that is truly tragic. It is what is real. The cars will rust, cell phones will die, jewels will be lost, they are all replaceable, but our interactions, our memories, our actual human connectivity to our fellow souls and this planet cannot be replaced. We must cherish these connections.
About Nicasio Latasa
Nicasio Latasa is a native Southern Californian. A resident of North County San Diego for most of his life he grew up with a love for the ocean and the outdoors. Quiet and somewhat timid as a youth he observed and internalized life moving about him. Stories blossomed in his head and he discovered a passion for writing late in his teens. He followed this passion to Cal State San Marcos where he graduated with a degree in Writing and Literature. Nicasio self published a book of poetry in 2003 named Seasons of Silence. During his twenties he traveled the globe searching for waves, different walks of life, adventure, and inspiration around the planet. This sense of exploration helped to inspire his first novel Stumbling Upon Mowgli in 2010. He recently published his second novel The Days Go So Slow in March of 2014. He currently lives in Oceanside with his wife Nicole and their daughter Grace. His website is nicasiolatasa.com.