Mr. Kato

Mr. Kato (not his real name) is a man who comes to see me from time to time.

From what I can gather, he's on welfare and has anxiety problems, and his CPU revolves a bit slower than most people's. He was brought in once for overdosing, but I don't think he has a suicidal ideation usually.

He comes to see me because he needs somebody to think with. Sitting alone in his room, he gets to thinking about things, and then all sorts of questions start boiling up, and he tries to think through to the answers but he can never quite get there and meanwhile this whole other set of questions and doubts and rebuttals are clamoring for attention--and before he knows it, his head is a whirlwind of slightly out of focus thoughts and reminders to self and half-formed resolves and question marks.

Mr. Kato gets duped a lot. He was married for a little while to a woman who came from China and immediately started using his flat as a dressing room between shifts at a cabaret. He had a "friend" who would buy him a cup of coffee and then badger Mr. Kato into paying for dinner and several rounds.

I like him because he asks questions that trip me up. With no sarcasm, he'll say: "So, I should just not think about anything and try to live a shallow life?"

Um, well...

He went to "Mass" at a Filippino Jehovah's Witness gathering, which was okay, he guessed, but they don't believe in blood transfusions or fighting sports, so how could he join their church?

What is the thing that makes you feel most relaxed? I ask. "Sleeping," he says without hesitation.

"How should I live the rest of my life?" he asks, and I struggle to come up with any sort of response. He shrugs: "I guess, play it by ear."

And he goes home.