Death and other Thoughts

Why I Blog

"Why do you like to write and share blogs?" A friend asked. I smiled and answered "Well, I don't actually care if people would read it or not; however there's this one person I want to share my blog with". "Who?" he asked curiously.

I looked at him and said happily "Me. When I'm old and nostalgic about life"
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On Death and Crying

A good friend once teased about me having a soft spot. I told her that I found some books an inspiration to extract tears; especially on the topic of death.

I cried 2 nights ago after reading "Tuesdays with Morrie". I read it from 12mn until dawn. It was not Morrie's death that poked my heart and my tear glands. It was the memory of my Lola's death.

Being a 12 year old boy, my memory is a bit bright and surreal over my Lola's deathbed. It was an orange afternoon when my Lola was visited by old friends. I stood nearby, just behind the door to eavesdrop. Probably out of curiosity on the strangers in our house.

They were happily talking about their youth and how good my lola was in football. This intrigued me and at the same time made me smile since I always though of lola to be a strict grumpy old woman.

The door, a few inch open, provided me enough space to watch their conversation. They were convincing her to be strong and to get well soon so they can play football again. My lola sadly looked at her decaying feet.

She was suffering from diabetes. The doctors even recommended to cut her left foot as to prevent more damage. But my lola, being a strong willed person, decided be in one piece; even until death.

She looked back at her friends and smiled. "We will play football once I get well, probably next week." They resumed their nostalgia and spent the entire afternoon laughing.

My lola died the after a few weeks and they never get to play again.

The same gesture was made by Morrie in Mitch Blom's book. While in the deathbed, he said he wasn't feeling well but will resume their meeting the next Tuesday. Their Tuesday people after all. But instead of attending their usual session, Mitch attended Morrie's burial the next Tuesday.

Mitch saw a tiny piece of hope since there was nothing to hold on to. But Morrie taught him to accept death as you accept life.

I cried for the bravery of Morrie and my Lola; for making the people they love secure. I love them for showing a glimmer of hope when all we see is dying. I love them for guiding us in the life's last destination.

Thinking about dying, I would probably do the same thing that they made. I'll tell my love ones that I will always be alright, even if my voice echoes with my last breath.

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Ghost Town

I don't know why, but despite experience I still checked whether the near computer store was open; It wasn't. So I decided to check Netopia so as to browse the net. Internet does not have Holiday anyway; but Netopia does.

Nowhere else to go I just walked the long Magsaysay road. The place reminded me of the movie 28 Days Later: no cars, no people (actually a few in my case, otherwise I'll freak out) and the city was silent except for a few TV static with Willy shouting wowowee.

Fortunately I found an open hair salon. With a few hair cuts and a lot of sermon from the stylist regarding my unkempt hair, I walked out a bit satisfied.

So why was I out while everyone was in the cemetery? Well, all of my dead relatives were buried miles away in Bicol.

I tried to pray in the church by the way, but it was closed.