USA entries

Angel of Death /  by Kevin Huang

Dear Bushra,

I killed a deer for food this year.  I am happy about it - and grateful to God for having something to eat for the next few months. But, the memories from the next week or so after I killed him are still burned hauntingly into my memory. 

 

I pulled the trigger,

BANG

and waited. Listening for movement, for any indication he was still alive. Nothing. For a moment, I thought I had missed.

As the minutes passed, I slowly started to feel somewhat similar to how you said you did, when your sister told you the news about your Dad on the phone.   



Adrenaline.   Not a punch to the gut, like with you, but a slow creeping build up. An indescribable feeling, of something happening inside my body. I started shaking ever so slightly. I can’t remember if it was from the cold, or from the adrenaline.

 

I remember standing there, just staring at the deer’s body for minutes on end. Snow was falling. It began to smell. It was bigger than I had expected it to be.  I tried to lift him onto my back so that I could carry him home, but I couldn’t.  He was too heavy for me – probably over 200 pounds - and I’m not weak.  I had to drag it. 

 

It took me about a week to process everything, to care for and safely package the meat.  It was my first time gutting a deer, so I had some friends help me.  When I asked how they would dispose of it, they said they were going to unceremoniously dump the entrails in the woods.  Something about that just felt wrong. 

 

I went back to their house the next day, and took the carcass back with me.  4 days later, after I had butchered and packaged all the meat, I lit a funeral pyre and cremated all the leftover parts of the deer that I didn’t use.  I thought it was only going to take me 2 or 3 hours.  It took me 12.  From sunset to sun up I went back and forth retrieving wood and tending to the fire.  I laid there, sat there.  Prayed some.  It was freezing. By 5 am I was so irritated, I just wanted it to be over, but I could still see meat on some of the bones.  I just wanted to go to sleep.  I finally made it to bed by 6, just as the sun was coming up.

 

The next morning I returned. It was all ashes.  Grey and black dust.  Which I gathered up, and laid to rest in the woods where I killed him. 



Other people don’t really do this.  Most people just hang the body up.  They skin it.  Gut it.  Butcher it.  And then just dump the parts in the woods to be torn apart by the coyotes.     Some keep the heads and mount them on their walls.

But to me,

Something just felt wrong about that.

 

I don’t care what other people think, but this was MY deer.  If I didn’t care for it, then no one else would. Despite what others may say, I loved the poor thing.  And, while I was happy to have food, there was an indescribable sadness about having to remove a living being from the woods. For a week I had been stalking him, getting to know his home. Getting to know HIM. The day before I shot him, I remember thinking about whether I was going to do it or not. “No matter what, I’d be happy,” I thought, “but I’d only be sad if I killed him.”



I can’t help but wonder if Death feels the same way, when he comes for us all.

The day before. Contemplating Life & Death.


This is all a cycle of nature. In many areas, there are too many deer, and not enough predators. If there are too many deer, everything suffers. I did everything “right.” I got a legal hunting tag. He was a male, (females are not legal), and old enough. But still, there was this feeling. Each living being is a separate, individual soul with its own thoughts and feelings. That is the beauty of life. Every soul is precious.



Some hunters might call me sentimental, or weak for caring so much for the beast. But, I cared for the body simply by doing what I felt was right.  I gave it a funeral I’d be thankful for if someone gave to me when I died. In today’s crazy world, even something as simple as a proper funeral, is a gift. It’s one of the few things, you can’t do by yourself. Someone has to help you care for your body once you die.

 

I guess the point of all this is, I felt for you, Bushra, when I read your piece about your dad.  I haven’t had to bury a parent yet, thank God, but I had to bury this creature recently, and I’m sure many of our thoughts and feelings overlapped at some point. I’ve buried grandparents, family members, and friends, but there was something special about this deer. I was conscious and aware of what I was doing. I did what felt to be right in my heart. I wasn’t just following orders to “lift up this casket and put it in this hole.”


When I read the story about your father - I felt it. Most of the time we are distracted by other things, but I know throughout your ordeal with your father’s funeral that you broke through the fog of daily monotony and it shook you awake. I felt that. It’s no wonder you’re still writing and thinking about it.

 

In today’s world, for some reason, funerals are a very public thing.  The last thing I wanted when I buried that deer, was for anyone else to be there.  I can’t imagine what it must have been like to have dozens of people fighting over the body, giving eulogies, and trying to take pictures. 

 

I’m lucky enough to still have my parents.  One of my good friends, Matt Marblo (bx sci), lost both his mother and his father within a couple of years.  I was at his father’s funeral.  Another one of my good friends from middle school, Barry Chong – lost his father to cancer two years ago.  I love my friends, and really respect them. I remember being there at Matt’s Dad’s funeral. And I remember when Barry told me about his father’s passing. Their experiences really moved me.  Since then, because of them, I’ve tried to improve my life.

 

In the last few years, I’ve become more self aware of my actions, and I’ve slowly tried to increase the amount of time I’ve been able to spend with my parents.  My life has improved greatly because of this, and I am so thankful to God for this time with them.  No amount of money is worth this. Your story is just another reminder.

 

My parents and I struggle, and fight often, but everyone is alive.  And relatively healthy.  And there is love. I can’t really ask for much more.  I get mad at them sometimes, but it’s usually stupid, and I wake up every day thanking God for giving me another chance to spend time with them.

 

Every time I hear news that a friend has lost a parent, my heart goes out to them.  It goes out to you. 

 

I think you should be proud of yourself, and thankful that you were able to bury your father.  That you were actually there, with a shovel, putting dirt on the casket.  Not everyone is able to do that.  Some people are too weak.  Some people are never able to retrieve the body. Some people are stuck in another country. It was a struggle, I’m sure. But you followed through with every step of the process.

 

I read somewhere that our goal in life should be – to be the most reliable person at our father’s funeral.  I think you accomplished that.  I think your dad would be proud of you.

 

In life, all we can do is our best.  Appreciate every moment. The fact that we are alive means that we still have time, but we never know how much or how little we have left of it - don’t waste it. At the end of the day, I killed that deer for food. I haven’t bought meat at a supermarket since. In order for us to live, something else must die, whether it be a plant or an animal. We must eat. Make its life count. Value life, and do good with it. Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. Take care of yourself Bushra. 

I read the part of your piece where you said you started reading everyone’s stupid comments and glaring at the hypocrisy of their social media accounts.  As a writer myself, I know how you feel.  That struck me and inspired me to write you this. A “real” letter.  I’m a very abrasive person, it’s difficult to speak truth because inevitably some people fight you.  I hope this letter to you wasn’t too graphic – but, it was genuine. When it comes to death – sometimes only the truth will suffice.  I believe you understand that.  Know that I feel your pain and I will pray for you and your family. I’m open to chat if you need to or want to. If not, peace be with you.

 

My condolences,

May your father rest in peace.

Kevin  

  

Back to America /  by Kevin Huang

Just got back to America after 4 months in the jungle, and 3 months living with my family in Mexico.  It's quite a big shock actually, and i'm glad that I was able to get the chance to transition back into society by going to my uncle's house in Mexico first.  As soon as i got back to LA it was like full on circus.  I went to a Kanye concert the first night I was back with a really good friend of mine and it was pretty surreal to say the least.

The pace of life, navigating traffic, being on such a tight schedule, the things people were saying, even just how fast people were talking to me was really jarring.  

I was down in Mex for a bit as well the last few days to catch a swell.  This is a whole nother story for another day, but there were some pros out towing in the water one big day while I was down there and I encountered them while I was swimming.   I had had a pretty insane experience in the water that day - quite dangerous actually - and i figured it would be nice to get on the back of a ski next time.  So, when I saw them on the beach later that day I talked to them, and gave them my info.  

The first thing one of the guys asked was, " Do you have an Instagram?"

I did, but unfortunately it was more of a personal Instagram and I didn't really have any professional work on it.  A friend of mine had also talked to me about it a few days prior and so that really got the cogs turning in the back of my mind.

Down in Central America, the internet was so slow I didn't even really bother with social media - it was such a hassle that it wasn't even worth it.  Besides, when you're living out there, social media just seems so far away.  There's plenty of life to be lived in the moment, social media is not only just a giant waste of time, it's the last thing you want to do while you're down there.  It's STILL a waste of time in the "real world", and I still have this love/hate kind of relationship with it, but it's a sort of necessary evil.  Just like any modern technology it's just another tool to be used.  You can either be a slave to it, or you can use it for good, it's all about your personal relationship with it.  

Recently, I had been mulling over the idea in my head of actually being a surf photographer.  As in like, not just treating it like a hobby or a past time, but seriously devoting some time and energy into it.  Mexico really made me question that (again, another story), but I knew that if I wanted to succeed, I would have to devote some time to developing a social media following - specifically an Instagram following.  

I remember having this thought while sitting on my friend's porch in Santa Monica.  He lived in an extremely nice part of town, and there were cars going by, lights flashing in the distance.  Airplanes droned on overhead, and Netflix was streaming on the massive TV in the living room.  Although I didn't really want to - and technically, I didn't really HAVE to - I felt that at least for a time, till I got to a place where I wanted to be, that I would have to devote some time and energy into working on something greater than myself and fitting into the bigger picture.  

Social media is almost like a living metaphor for that.  Social media connects people around the world through text, sound, video and imagery.  There are literally people all over the world using Instagram.  As a photographer, you're basically the lifeblood of Instagram since it thrives off of photos and images.  There will always be a space and a demand for promising photographers and I knew that what I was producing had some potential.  Not only would it be good for business (my business), but it would be a way of giving back to the world.  And, that's one of the reasons I started doing this to begin with.  I want to inspire people and share with everyone my love for the ocean, the waves which travel upon it, and the surfers who ride them - from the perspective of a person - a surfer - who loves all of these things in an extremely special and personal way - my own.  

I remember finishing my cigarette and then just looking out into the street, surrounded by concrete and the first world.  As much as you try and avoid it, we are all part of society.  The effect is less in a place like Nicaragua although its tendrils reach you even there.  However, ironically, places like Nica are much more free than many places in America.  Returning to civilization, to America, really made me understand just how caught up I was - how caught up we all are-  in its web.  Returning to civilization isn't just about realizing where you are, but it's about realizing where you fit in it all.

And for some of us, the answer is, we don't really fit in anywhere.

However, for me, the situation isn't so dire.  Deep in the core of my being I know I need to return to Central America.  However, right now, I need to see what I can bring back with me from the jungle to to city.  And when the time comes for me to return to the jungle, I'll hopefully have everything set up for me for my return to civilization as well.  

Duality.  Freedom.  Everything.  That is what I want.  I know how to get there, it's just a matter of getting it done.

 

The South Bay Los Angeles