While others
found sobriety in their sleep, his was a somber retreat. Four weeks passed and
the shock still lingers like jawbreaker. Sour. Sad. Disbelief. How could’ve he
chosen a painful death?
It was
cinematic; his body hanged in front of
a dim stair unwelcoming of any pity nor tears. He didn’t plan to die, not then.
He had tasks to do, relationships to fix, friends to come home to, college
graduation to look forward to. But he died. Maybe he was destined to. Was he
able to unburden himself? Was he guilty for doing it? Was he happy? Sure, he
was loved. Sympathy and condolences poured in right after and I knew he was
grinning like he used to when he did something mischievous.
I was not
one to question his motive. His was a broken heart that failed to pick up the
debris of a fallen relationship. Maybe it was doomed from the start or he was
haunted by the mistakes in the choices he made, we were not apt to judge. We
were not close friends in the first place. He was an eye candy from college
past, an artist who loved taking photographs and smoked at the school
building’s lobby. I assumed he was a narcissist, he loved being worshipped by
other men and I envied him for that.
The last I
saw him, he cheefully greeted me during my film’s premiere night. That long. I
remembered him smile then hugged me, hoping he was proud we knew each other.
Extreme it is to say that we were estranged but sure, there was a space
between. We revolved around the same orbit but somehow we didn’t manage to ride
on the very axis that made us common. But still, a death is a death and I don’t
want people dying just like that. I felt sorry for his wasted existence but I
felt more sorry for myself who failed to explore his friendship. It wasn’t easy
getting over it.
Death is not
what the fairy tales of our childhood subscribe to. We aren’t even sure we’ll
have our souls back after ceasing to breath. But death brings us back to the
very basic foundation of life. A reflection of how we’ve lived and how we
should live from now on. Did he find the solution? I don’t think so. But for me
and the hundreds of other people who knew him, he taught a striking lesson that
dying deserves to be feared like I always did. If he thought what he did
mystified his reasons, for us whom he left behind, it gave birth to a becoming
and found the strength to suck it up.
It’s really
sad to think of people who die young. We know they still have more
opportunities to exhaust, songs and music to listen to, places to travel to,
food to enjoy, friends and family to love, a new generation to see. Living is
painful. Death isn’t sweet either. We fail, we fuck up, we despair, we commit
grievous mistakes, we make enemies. It’s something we have to deal with. It’s a
familiar occurrence and surviving the not-so-good and miserable stuff of life
becomes a habit. And therein lies the fun.
When one
succeeds in choosing to die, there’s no going back. Good thing, we can’t say
the same about life because there is an infinite attempt to live it better the
next time around.
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