On death

"Death, when it approaches, ought not to take one by surprise. It should be part of the full expectancy of life. Without an ever-present sense of death life is insipid. You might as well live on the whites of eggs."    - Muriel Spark

Project: Live

My work mate's older sister just arrived home from somewhere overseas with her husband. She approached her brother, my work mate, with a tight hug, passed by us and still managed to flash a little smile while holding back tears. I heard her mourning sobs get louder as she approached the white wooden coffin where her father's lifeless body laid to rest as if proving herself of the loss. I held back tears.

My work mate's mother then narrated the stories of his husband. I was stunned on how he composed every chapter on his 60-year book. His was full of adventures and sacrifices, of triumphs and failures of being a father. If there was one that he has not written on his book yet, that would be him not experiencing being a grandfather to any grandchild. Sixty long years was indeed not enough. His book has been closed that soon.

Ah, death... a process of life's cessation, an inevitable phenomenon every person has to face. I personally fear death or anything associated with it like moo-moos or horror movies. Thinking about it deeper though, I fear because I feel like I have not done enough yet from the twenty-six years that has been given to me. Sometimes I tend to forget this predestined fact and roll in the tides of being too attached to a monotony I did not want to let go. My obsession to this monotony, this wearisome uniformity, prevented me from moving onto another chapter of this book. Why the lack of adventure? Or change, or the denial of it? I do not know. I still might have this fear of change, but I try. I darn try hard somehow... all for the efforts of composing a "perfect" biography and tuck in everything that has to be in my story - regretful or not.