It is not about death. That is a process that starts as soon as we’re born. It is the reminders of mortality that has led to my aversion for hospitals. Mangled body parts, groans of suffering that beg me to put the sick person out of his misery. Painful messages that tell me that I’m really not in control.
It is not about control. That is a process that stops as soon as we’re born, or perhaps way before that. It is the reminders of the hands that decide my destiny that nauseate me. Faces begging for answers as to why it had to happen to them. It warns me of age, and a clock ticking somewhere.
It is not about death. It is about groping frustratingly for answers that seem to elude me. It is about wondering if I have missed my destiny, and wondering if everything I experience is a clue to something that I’m missing, and the futility that I’d experience if I kept missing them. For, it is when I walk through hospital corridors, that I painfully see the possibilities- physical and mental wrecks of what were once, human beings, it is then I realize that it’s life I’m afraid of.
Until next time, live
And how quickly did you hit that “and yet..” roadblock?
Problem is we seek certainty in life and then get bored of it being so certain!
As for the hospital thing…I had written long ago of something similar…Hospitals usually remind me of places like Afghanistan and futility of life…
i can identify…its life that scares.
austere: early, i would say 😐
epiphany: yes, agree
tys: but we are still scared more by death 😐
Tap Tap tap… brood brood brood… sigh
I can’t believe this came from the same person who writes those witty, whacky 55ers. I run through your jokes, I skim along the story and then I’m stopped by the intensity of this post. I realize what I’m scared of is how well you understand every little nuance of life.