Judgment Day

After 2 weeks of waiting and dreading, I was making my trip to the court. Despite of all assuring effort from friends and family, I was still antsy about appearing before the officials. The night before my anxiety had become so intense that I could not think of anything but the court appointment: what would I say, what should I do and most importantly what would the judge find me. For others, my excessive apprehension was not only incomprehensible but also incredulous. I could see it from their eyes after my third, ok maybe 4th, attempts to seek comfort and support. Their dismissal look told me they had moved on and so should I. If only I could! I agonized silently, wondering if they would take it this slightly had the table been turned.

I had taken off a day from work even though the court hearing was set as early as 8:30am. It felt like the whole world had deserted me, my sleep included, leaving me melancholy and most sadly alone. I fussed over the clothes selections, fought with my GPS and fretted all the way to the court. A fine spring day, the weather was fair and clear, in contrast to the stormy turmoil inside of me. I paid no tribute to the gleaming sunshine on the sky, the historical downtown architecture or the manicured trees and shrubs along the side walk. My heart heavy and my mind distracted, I wanted nothing but the verdict be given and done with. Finally, there it stood – my worst fear and tormentor for the past 2 weeks – the courthouse so solemn and ready to condemn. I walked in with the rest of the guilty, wondering if they were as unsettling as I was. Their silent and blank looks told me absolutely nothing, which unfortunately made my poor heart sink even further.

I had been to the court exactly 2 times: one to get married and another one when I swore in my allegiance as a new addition for this country. This 3rd time might be “the charm” but definitely nothing “charming” with me being summoned as the law offender. I sat dejectedly among a roomful of the guilty though presumed innocent under the law, waiting to plead our cases before the judge. One by one we were called – some with a quick verdict and some with a small scale of drama as in movies or TV shows. What fascinated me were those that were accompanied by their counselors. Were they there for the gravity of their offenses? I wondered. Surely it must be nice to have someone professional, not to mention “legal”, to aid and plead for you in time like this! Like now. I thought forlornly. Here we sat, except for those accompanied by their lawyers, with but a seat or two from one another, together yet completely alone. And if there is anything worse than life’s trials and tribulation, it’d be facing them alone.

An hour and 30 minutes later, I was finally called. My heart pumping hard, I approached the bench. What do you plead? Guilty. I heard myself humbly reply, followed by my prepared speech, which I had rehearsed a hundred times: Your honor, it was my fault, (etc, etc.) I had a clean record (another etc.). He reached for my evidence and as all friends and family had predicted, fined me with the court fee and a 6-month probation. I was dismissed in 2 minutes.

The worst was over. By the mercy of the judge, I walked out almost cleared but definitely free. My debt paid, I stepped back to the sunny, glorious outside, ready to join the society. Suddenly, I noticed the sky blue, the lawn green and blossom bright. I took in a deep breath of air and realized finally what free smelled like. The court behind me, I continued on to the parking lot and vowed resolutely to stay free – not for the 6-month probation alone, but hopefully for good – so I would never have to return here. Somehow, I knew, three was not a charm. I am destined to go to another hearing despite of all my good intent and effort. That final appearing, unfortunately, will render me no probation. The verdict would be in – no plea or remorse would acquit me of this life’s misconducts. If I had been so terrified with this court, what would I feel with that final judgment day? My heart that was just lifted seconds ago sank down as my pace hesitated. I thought of those fellow accused back there with their lawyers and wondered if I would be privileged enough to afford one then and there. My guilt may be great, but I had to cling to the greater hope in that just as the gift of faith came free, my Counselor’s service there would be too.

I started my car and drove on. The second chance was given. From now on let it be a brand new, good citizen back on the road: both in the driver’s seat and life.

Stop And Go

25 years of driving later, I was getting my first traffic ticket -- 3:50AM exactly, on a non-eventful, most insignificant Wednesday morning. Who would have thought anything exciting on the hump of a week, like Wednesday? It is unimaginable, let alone lawful, but there I was, ironically for offending the law, sitting and waiting in the car numb and shocked at my fate: I had became one of those pitiful public humiliation displayed in the broad daylight -- well in my mind at least -- in truth: on a pitched dark, still asleep street.

How many times have you looked at the rear mirror praying for a narrow escape after slamming on your break at the sight of a speed trapper police car? Well this time when the blinding white and blue lights blazed up at the mirror, I was caught totally surprised. My body surged through a numbing sensation as I cruised to the side and dutifully parked. Was I speeding? What did I do? The question marks went wild like the blinking lights of the patrol car behind me. After handing in my license and registration I finally humbly asked him what I did. “You did not come to a complete stop at the stop sign” was the official verdict. There was no point of arguing at the finality of his accusation devoid of any trace of mercy. I sat deflated for seemingly eternality until he returned with my ticket 15 minutes later. “You have a safe trip now” was his farewell. Was that sarcastic or was it a genuine good wish? I wondered. If so, was he OUT OF HIS MIND??

I had always wondered how depressing a day would be for those wounded animals after being degraded and forced with a traffic ticket. I experienced it firsthanded that day. Never a confrontational type, unless sufficiently provoked, I went to work depressed. Desperate time called for desperate measure, and my first reach for help was the phone on the desk for the biggest supporter and partner for life, who was still in sleep. The phone rang 4 times unanswered as I drifted even lower to the drowning sea of dejection. I thought I was going to cry. Within seconds, he called back. 25 years of marriage later, he knows me and my phobia well enough to receive all my agony and outcry. After 5 minutes of sympathy and TLC, I was finally patched up to face the world again.

When it comes to sympathy, is there ever a limit for anyone at all? I wonder. My humiliation though great was no match for my pride. I then went around hoping to seek more support from a floor of cell mates. Surely there would be some fellow drivers who must have faced the same persecution to commiserate with! I was right and wrong – in fact, all have been there plenty of times and yet none of them for moral support. Instead of offering sympathy, they laughed up and down at my calamity and unanimously raised the same remark “I can’t believe you have never got a ticket till now”. They went side-tracked on with their “records”, incredibly with much pride and joy – what they were and some of which how they talked themselves out of. The mourning party I had intended to host turned into this celebration memorial where the main focus was anyone but me! The closest thing that resembled consolation was something like: Just pay the fine and forget it.

Nearly 2 weeks have passed since and I have not yet been able to solve the puzzle: was it cultural or was it just me? Face-on with any authority, let alone being found guilty, is a total violation of safety and dignity. It takes me back to the classroom where my worst fear, besides pop quizzes, was realized - being called out as the public display of the BAD student, the offender. The disapproval from the teacher as well as the alienation from your peers separates you from the rest of the world with miles long of abyss. Their look of contempt, sympathy and distrust is worse than death – because you are alive to see and feel it every second. But here I am, decades later on the other end of the earth, a law offender all over again, finding my peers’ jeers not from the crime itself but from the absence of crime all these years till now. They laughed it off and walked away, as if it had never ever happened. In their eyes, I am cleared, or should I say, the same person or colleague they have known for the past 3 years – no better or no worse. In fact, my offense, instead of separating, has done exactly the opposite – blending me in with them! I now face the choice to choose between staying trapped in this jail of shame and taking the pardon to join the society. After all, I have served the sentence from another life all these years; maybe it’s time to lift the past verdict.

My failure to stop, ironically, did me a much needed dose of stopping. I am ready to go now.