Ndugu

Sinking back into a comfortable couch after a long day at work is one of the best feelings in the world.

I rarely watch T.V. simply because I can't be bothered with all the mindless drivel on it. Yes, I'm one of those snobs. However, tonight, for the first time in months, I watched T.V. just for the sake of watching T.V. because I was exhausted and I wanted to just sit on my ass and do nothing.

About Schmidt came on. The last time I saw that movie, I was in high school. I didn't pay any attention to (Jack Nicholson's character) Warren Schmidt's rites of passage journey, but instead giggled at all these times he solemnly wrote long personal letters in flowery language to Ndugu, a six-year-old orphan in Africa.

It all began when Schmidt decided to sponsor a child from a children's aide charity. Later, he got a letter from them thanking him for the first check and asking him to write a friendly letter to the child he was sponsoring. Schmidt then made the six-year-old orphan the frequent recipient of solemn verbose letters full of his own innermost thoughts, desires, and fears -- thoughts he could not share with anyone else. My then-boyfriend, Paolo, and I found the old man's naivety so hilarious that it became a running inside joke between us.

So I watched the movie again tonight and came to understand and appreciate it a lot more. As a screenwriter, I gave the character development my full attention. It was very beautifully done. Now I feel like a fool for laughing at Schmidt's one-sided connection to Ndugu five years ago. This time around, I completely understand Schmidt's need to pour out his soul to a stranger from another continent. He has no one. He's a very lonely man who feels that he hasn't made a significant contribution to the world or even anybody in his life. He's starved for a real and organic human connection, which is something he can't find amongst his phony friends and family members. Since he feels that Ndugu comes from a world with virtually nothing, Ndugu although sixty years his junior, would understand what it is like to lack a lot of things in life and therefore could relate to Schmidt.

Schmidt eventually gets a drawing from Ndugu, who cannot read or write. In a letter attached to the drawing, a nun writes that she reads his letters to Ndugu. It is quite assuring that, even after hearing all of Schmidt's innermost feelings and life troubles, the six-year-old boy took the time to draw a picture of him holding hands with Schmidt. This is such a pure connection.

With that said, I can relate to Schmidt in this aspect. I'm not saying that I don't have anyone to rely on. I have great friends, but I still need to be able to completely pour out my soul to someone else without being judged. It would be truly theurapic to just write, write, and write about anything and everything and have somebody out there who takes the time to read it all without reservation.

Perhaps I should find my Ndugu. S/He's out there somewhere.