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Meet [ BENJAMIN HIRSZ ], a [ 37 ] year old [ CLOCKMAKER AT HIRSZ: ANTIQUE CLOCKS AND REPAIR ]. Come say hello to [ BENJAMIN ] at [ HANA NEIGHBORHOOD ].
VISIT Benjamin ; CALL Benjamin
PERSONALITY: he is a dreamer whose architecture of dreams is slept beneath his pillow. the making of his universe is in his head, alike the optimism and vivacity that comes with youth. he is young when he thinks, all his beliefs are ones belonging to a boy whose childhood had been stolen from him (though he felt for the need to grow up at an overwhelming pace, be fit for the ever changing world and the woes it weighs itself with). at the quarter of his meddling middle life crisis offers him time to grieve, despite its unmoving effect. he deprives himself of another’s understanding for the better reasoning of his own. he may not agree, though he’ll try to perceive with his best eyes shone. he is a man who keeps all judgement behind his back, a well engaging listener and a fortress-building artist who knows his boundaries (that shall never be broken down).
he is a man of creativity and art, surrounding him in his infant years. always conducting a sincere genuinity for the pieces made in the hands of man, he, too, finds valuable time alone in this process. benjamin studies the importance of time than using the said element as an accessory, orderly and kept from sunrise to sunset.
he loves living even if life may not bless and adore him back. BACKGROUND:
I.
his parents were first generation immigrants from poland, seeking opportunity and freedom like no other. the united states of america sounded so promising, light and soft to the ears. a country of many, a country boastful of its melting-pot diversity. parading on its soil is liberty engraved; walked along, spoke upon, listening to. the promised land, the youth of the world. they ignite the legacy earlier to let kindle. the burrowed seeds within mounds of dirt pressed in palms to sprout life. turn over a new leaf from a reign of terror of an one-man’s army.
II.
a few years down the line, benjamin was born in new york city; given a home in predominant jewish community. the world is new and different. he doesn’t know poland, but he associates warsaw like an old friend he’d hope to free bonds with. but new york— new york, he learns to make new york his home.
III.
he feels restrained when he cannot live among the rest of the american children as he was with them. like a chameleon’s desire to camouflage, the art of affiliation was what he aspired greatly. religion is a household hymn. apples and honey were sweet; the significance of rosh hashanah are iron balls wrapped around his ankles. his father drops him off to school and when he watches the vehicle drive away, benjamin rids the yarmulke off his head.
IV.
he tells his father to avoid speaking to him in hebrew at the dinner table during springtime, especially in public. in front of his peers brew mockery in the sense of laughter. his father takes an ungodly amount of time as fear and rejection and confusion seizes him thus far. embarrassment is a light film of red over a pale face. his father weeps as children play out on the yard after sundown.
V.
nineteen-eighty-three. he comes back home from art class on a wednesday to find his father lying cold in the bathroom. without life, ceasing to exist. he’s dead and he has died and he’s never coming back. the anguish develops itself, gone too soon. benjamin touches his old man’s cheeks. his cheeks are without shade and the bones beneath the grey skin is flat. he thinks of his father’s financial struggle along with the instability kept in the confines of their home.
VI.
regret. depression. resentment. agony. lonely and kept at fault. (found himself screaming while aside the east river. whatever makes himself feel better.)
he hated himself before and his hatred is a burning cultivation. this is how resentment feels like, and the wildfire is growing.
VII.
he moves in with his grandfather and grandmother in some home above the old sport’s antique shop. mother works many odd jobs to fill the time being lost and the empty void of her heart. grandfather shows him a number of things. clock making, repairing— the wonders of his world is in this antique shop, says he. benjamin wonders if he could fix himself like he fixed the novelty birdhouse clock.
VIII.
high school graduation. moves out of grandpop’s and grandma’s. goes to university because it’s expected of him, thus letting him fall back on comfortability if all else fails. graduates after six or so something years. made a friend and thanked his professors. met a woman who has yet to be his first love. he looks at her with admiration and fondness altogether with the many memories and bonds they shared. she loves him as does he. learns the patience of her heart that soon starts the second birth of life.
IX.
their new home is japan once they’ve married. pledged their irrevocable love for each other, gives joy another hand at happiness. the languages is thick on his tongue, the country’s custom unfamiliar, but he coexists in a state of harmony. though she, too, perishes in the returning anguish of sadness. heaven couldn’t have waited for her, he concludes. he recognizes the grizzly appearance of the driver (shamelessly intoxicated) and wonders how many lives he has killed behind the wheel (perhaps his dearest was the guilty’s first one). he has shed too many tears in the privilege of misery. the back of his mind taunts the weariness of his deceased wife’s name and face andpetunia scented neck and collarbones and wristsー
X.
mondays through saturdays is when he operates the scrap house-like clock repairing (and selling and buying) shop. he is always punctual. right on the dot at ten am is the pursuit of his weekly business. however, his hands find the broom and he sweeps the front of the establishment of dust and dead leaves and twigs. flips the sign to ‘we are open!’ when the sun appears neutral in the sky. despite the rigidness in its appearance, the decor is phenomenal in which they bring awe. across the wallpaper inclined walls is the beauty of both clocks from the old and new, past and present. on good days he’ll let you pluck off the goods and inspect them yourself (there’s a story behind each and every one of them. might he prepare you tea and a leather armchair to rest and unwind). near the counter is a framed picture of his wife (also another on his repairing desk), and many ask of herー and although he is still grieving, he provides the brief story of her and them. once late afternoon falls, the sunlight casts a vain light into his shop; he knows there are very little hours left of its opening. at six thirty in the evening (when darkened indigo rises in the outskirts of the sky and the church bells die out) is when he closes up. when it’s friday and saturday, five thirty is his retirement. sundays are reserved for salad days.
he lives his life, just like this. on repeat, from beginning to end. nothing is changing, everything is safe and comfortable.