the Guilt of Being Alive
"It is incredibly lonely even among people"
My 88 year old Grandpa was bent over his 4 months old great grandson-son of my cousin who passed away 2 weeks ago. Grandpa asks the new one, with tears in his eyes, "your grandpa's father- I- am still alive, but where is your father, little one"?
Tears didnt come then. They didnt come even when I watched my cousin's 8 year old daughter wait half the night for the "Shaman" to bring her father back as someone had told her that the Shaman had the power to bring him back. She asked an uncle, "when will the Shaman bring my father back?"
I thought I was done crying. I thought that I had to live for them, for my niece and nephew, for my sister-in-law, for my aunt and uncle. That I had to be strong and support them. Crying was not going to be an answer at that hour. So I was strong. I wept here n there but always out of sight.
And then I finally arrived in the city. Because "I had to(?)".
As I moved past people, vehicles and various assortment of vendor stalls in the crowded dusty street, the very bubbling life of this city that has always enthralled me, drenched the last remaining energy off my body.
In my head, I was headed for Boudhha or Pashupati, in a quite corner of which, I could cry my soul out and let go of this feeling that my dear cousin will never be the one among this living crowd, that he will never be the one grinning or huffing and puffing in this mass of people, that he is gone forever and is no more.
I walked and walked instead of taking a bus, heavy with all the grief, and fickleness of my existence and my purposeless life. Why was I alive when he was not?
Why was I still crying when he would not come back? Why was I thinking of other people, when I got love from no one? When no one has the time to listen to my sorrow, when no one will feel the pain that I feel, when no one will shed tears along with me for him?
In this city of a million people, I couldn't find one shoulder to lean on and cry. My grief, my misery was mine alone. It was so incredibly lonely even among people.
Some day, you too are gonna loose a near one, a loved one. Someone who you thought would always be there, but who will be there no more.
I always told myself these, but what I didn't realize was that -
And in those days, I will realize the vanity of life, and the vanity of being "me" - of creating something to last a lifetime and more.
This hollowness that is there, which no volume of tear can wash away, which no amount of philosophy can fill up - this hollowness. What can you do with this hollowness?
What can you do when the world is moving all around but has stopped for you?
When you have no purpose in life, and the things you believed was going to redirect you to your purpose, can give you no clue?
What can you do when you are alive, but somebody else who you thought would always be there, is no more?
What can you do when every conscious thought of yours is guilt that you are still breathing while he is buried alone in a deserted place, to be forgotten bit by bit every day?
What can you do when you have no one "to whom you shall tell of your misery"?
My 88 year old Grandpa was bent over his 4 months old great grandson-son of my cousin who passed away 2 weeks ago. Grandpa asks the new one, with tears in his eyes, "your grandpa's father- I- am still alive, but where is your father, little one"?
Tears didnt come then. They didnt come even when I watched my cousin's 8 year old daughter wait half the night for the "Shaman" to bring her father back as someone had told her that the Shaman had the power to bring him back. She asked an uncle, "when will the Shaman bring my father back?"
I thought I was done crying. I thought that I had to live for them, for my niece and nephew, for my sister-in-law, for my aunt and uncle. That I had to be strong and support them. Crying was not going to be an answer at that hour. So I was strong. I wept here n there but always out of sight.
And then I finally arrived in the city. Because "I had to(?)".
As I moved past people, vehicles and various assortment of vendor stalls in the crowded dusty street, the very bubbling life of this city that has always enthralled me, drenched the last remaining energy off my body.
In my head, I was headed for Boudhha or Pashupati, in a quite corner of which, I could cry my soul out and let go of this feeling that my dear cousin will never be the one among this living crowd, that he will never be the one grinning or huffing and puffing in this mass of people, that he is gone forever and is no more.
I walked and walked instead of taking a bus, heavy with all the grief, and fickleness of my existence and my purposeless life. Why was I alive when he was not?
Why was I still crying when he would not come back? Why was I thinking of other people, when I got love from no one? When no one has the time to listen to my sorrow, when no one will feel the pain that I feel, when no one will shed tears along with me for him?
In this city of a million people, I couldn't find one shoulder to lean on and cry. My grief, my misery was mine alone. It was so incredibly lonely even among people.
Some day, you too are gonna loose a near one, a loved one. Someone who you thought would always be there, but who will be there no more.
I always told myself these, but what I didn't realize was that -
And in those days, I will realize the vanity of life, and the vanity of being "me" - of creating something to last a lifetime and more.
This hollowness that is there, which no volume of tear can wash away, which no amount of philosophy can fill up - this hollowness. What can you do with this hollowness?
What can you do when the world is moving all around but has stopped for you?
When you have no purpose in life, and the things you believed was going to redirect you to your purpose, can give you no clue?
What can you do when you are alive, but somebody else who you thought would always be there, is no more?
What can you do when every conscious thought of yours is guilt that you are still breathing while he is buried alone in a deserted place, to be forgotten bit by bit every day?
What can you do when you have no one "to whom you shall tell of your misery"?
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