Death of Me

When I was 16, my uncle who brought cake every 7th of November, died. Everybody cried including my mother who is a symbol of strength. In an instant, she became fragile and weak. If there is one thing I can remember on that occurrence, that would be the endless ration of food. My cousins' prepared biscuits, bread, and snacks from time to time. If I may be honest, the casket and flowers didn't leave a mark on my heart.

When I was 25, my grandpa who supported my parents financially, died. Everybody cried including my father who is a perfect model of a happy-go-lucky guy. If there is one thing I can remember in that situation, that would be the endless paperwork my aunt needed to process. If I may be honest, the scent of the candles and the image of people who came and went, stayed in my heart for a while.

As I tried to visualize death, I wondered if it comes in different forms and sizes. Just like others, I desire to seek what the afterlife means. I also want to ask the dead if they're really in a better place. I don't know how to answer these and I often thought that I am dead though I'm alive.

I am no longer excited to greet every morning, because it will make me endure the pain of the past, of the rotting society, and of being me. I possess no hope for the dreams that used to keep me awake because those are idealistic and conformists. I feel lifeless around the people I love the most, they committed no mistake but something inside me does not make sense anymore. I find it meaningless to look for purposes and ambitions because these make us dolls who achieve nothing but tainted emotions we never wanted to have. No, it's not a phase, no matter how long I sleep or how much I eat, this restlessness won't fade.

My soul awaits its collapse-a sudden cut to the breath of a poisonous environment that spoiled my identity, a halt to the blood flow of a disgusting being who is driven on emotional needs, and an ending for a life that's empty. Isn't it nice to be captured on a nice day?