To Where We Meet Again?

Death has always been following me since I lost my grandma at 13, and I just want all of this pain to stop, or do I? Am I enjoying this side of life that I have been living for so long, romanticizing my pain, living the book I never wrote?

If I forget about grandma, then I will let go of the vision of death, the possibility of death. I forget about her sometimes, but I never wanted to forget her forever. I wish, most of the time, that I could forget her. She is still more important than anyone I have had in this life. And I cried for that — not every day. How am I going to face it? And now my dad has passed away, suddenly, last year, when I still felt like a baby at 24 — while feeling so sorry for feeling like a baby.

I remember that morning was cold with mist on the window. I was turning on the engine of my mica blue car. And my mom phoned me, asking if I got classes today with such a chill voice and hesitation. I said not really. Then she said something about staying at the apartment. Then she delivered the news, while my head ringing with emptiness.

I feel that God has pushed too much onto me.

The ocean is in front of me, and I am trying to live lightly. One thing at a time — that is the simple trick to all my dismay. One thing at a time. Life has been giving me too much at once.

Maybe death can be a friend of mine. But how should I see that? All I can ever think is that, when my time comes, I will see grandma and my dad. Is there another angle? What it also gives me is this: when I know death is always there, the inescapable, everything loses its claim to be taken too seriously. And I am living life as it goes, and it has been wonderful.

Life is my teacher.

But death — I don't think I should make sense of it. I don't feel it. But it is always there. I am searching for the right question to ask about death. I know so many arguments from philosophers, but the thing is, they forget about the end of their arguments. If philosophy should serve how we live our lives consciously, then there comes a point where analytical views lose their power. And death is one of those lines.

Forcing sense onto something I don't feel yet is just the analytical habit reaching past its limit.

For a long time, death was a condition I lived in, and a question. Now I am trying to live it only as a condition. I have hidden this side of me from the people around me. And it has been lonely.

In time we should know it all.