Human mortality, has been on my mind a lot the last two weeks. For in my dreams, I meet those who have gone before, I see those who are near death’s door. And all I can do is to feel helpless.
There are all these great sayings and philosophies and psychologies on death and dying. Which is weird as the very reason the books and theories have any kind of reality is because the writer has not yet died. Any experience can only be limited to the dying part, the part that we see, the part that we cry, the part that we try so hard to hang onto. But the death itself remains a mystery.
The fragility of life is humiliating. The resilience of life is humbling. I haven’t figured out whether life is too short, or life is too long. Just like how I am unable to decide whether the glass is half full, or the glass is half empty.
One thing I do know though, that we are all of us, whether rich or poor, whether yellow or brown or white, whether father or mother or sister or brother…
… we are all marching towards certain death.