Death has been confronting me from all sides. The first time was when I almost lost my life in a hold-upping (is there such a word) scene. The second confrontation was when I learned that my highschool classmate and buddy Jerome Juralbal died because of his eye infection. The third one was when I was informed that my high school principal died.
I am afraid of death, definitely. I am so afraid of it that I don’t want it to catch me off guard. I want to face it bravely. I just can’t stop with being afraid of it. I know I couldn’t possibly avoid Death just like I can’t avoid being afraid of Freddy Kruger. But I can definitely do something to make my life worthwhile—spend every minute of my life by savoring the fact that it’s good to be alive.
As much as possible, I make every day special. I keep records of my daily experiences because I don’t want to be remembered as just another person who has lived. No one knows when I will be gone.
I don’t know why but it concerns me that I should finish all of my desires before I die. But of course, it would be very impossible to do that. My life is not a version, of Nicholas Sparks’ “A Walk to Remember.” I cannot depend on somebody to fulfill my dreams for me because, as it is, that somebody is yet to be given to me. All I can do for the mean time is to spend time with people special to me, be they friends or family. To tell them how much they mean to me. And to create memories that can mean me so much to them.
This might sound pathetic. But I can’t let these thoughts be buried with me until god-knows-when, literally and figuratively.