We don't talk about death in the family. Death is like a piece of dirt that we prefer to hide under the carpet rather than sweep away into its proper place.

I've wondered about this a lot of times. Why do we pretend it didn't happen? Why do we keep quiet and go about our daily tasks thinking that if we ignore or deny its existence then death will just go away, and it won't be real anymore?

Four days ago a neighbor threw away two one-day-old kittens outside our gate. One of them died on the spot, the other one fought for life, crying relentlessly, demanding to be heard, felt, loved.

I named him Miro, it would have been a miracle if he survived given his condition, but we tried anyway. We bought him pet's milk and a nurser bottle and did our best to care for a little life that was carelessly thrown away by irresponsible people.

Sadly, miracles don't grow on trees these days, not that it ever did, but I was hoping this once it would appear from out of nowhere to fight death, and let life win.

Life won. Miro passed away yesterday morning. He fought for life for a few days before death took him away ever so swiftly, silently, without mercy.

Today Miro's little life was heard, felt, loved. And forever remembered.

Many sunsets ago, I used to sit here waiting for the moon to come out while the naked stone man with his arms outstretched looked up to the sky as if in surrender. Perhaps he too was waiting for shooting stars, or for some sort of wisdom to rain like manna from heaven so that all important questions will finally be answered. 

If any such torrent ever happened back then, I was probably absent, because up to now I still have questions, but unlike before, when I was still blinded by the idealism of youth, I no longer care if these will ever be answered.  Maybe this only means I'm finally growing up, or I'm finally letting go.

I was big on meanings then, and I was so fixated on closure that I chased ghosts because I needed logic before I can accept things and let them be. Lately I've realized that it's interesting to lead life not knowing what's going to happen next, or why events happened in the past. It's better just being in the moment, and taking it all in, like a masterpiece that just wants to be appreciated and not a subject that needs to be dissected in order to be understood.

Tonight I remember the 17 year old me whose tears fell on the concrete pavements of this university. I have probably not fully recovered from that first heartbreak and I think Theodore said it best, : "Sometimes I think I have felt everything I'm ever gonna feel. And from here on out, I'm not gonna feel anything new. Just lesser versions of what I've already felt."

Maybe things were bigger then because I thought my mind was too small to understand everything. But the secret was never in understanding, rather in accepting, with arms outstretched, gazing at the heavens. I guess that stone guy knew this all along.

And if ever there's one thing I learned from that girl who used to wait for sunsets, it's this: "this too, shall pass".

2014.03.19.6.31.p.m.



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in transit