Soliloquy
I don’t know if I lived through a lot of interesting and life-altering events. I don’t know if I’m allowed to even give advice on any matters of life. I haven’t lived to the fullest in any case, but I feel it as my duty to the potential reader to portray some of my life stories, as they happened and when they happened for the sole purpose of (maybe) me reading them when at last completely detached from them. Will I see Life the same way as today, as a young man of twenty four? Will my desperate attempts to philosophize life, prosper and find some meaning? Will this website still be up here? I doubt it! Nevertheless, I will try to place my life account on a more serious, truthful and teeth-grinding level of sincerity just for the sake of it. Is this my Seize the day speech? Should I shut the fuck up and go study for my exam, due tomorrow at 18:00 or should I stay here, in this wild morning hour, with one or two of you who haven’t checked the X button yet and continue this soliloquy? Hell if I know. “One thing is for certain in this life”, my grandfather used to say “and that is We spend half the time not knowing what to do and the other half believing we do. And that’s just for the smart people. Damn me if I know what the other 99% thinks”.
My grandfather died two years ago and I loved him deeply. He was a cool guy overall and he knew how to laugh with all his might. Jesus that laughter, I’ll never forget it. Loud, somewhat mocking you but not really, yet sweet… fuck it! Words won’t describe it. At least not mine. When my granddad died, I didn’t cry! I remember thinking “Good!, the poor bastard suffered long enough”. He didn’t deserve it; lying there on life support, pain, discomfort, shuttered pride, self-esteem blown to pieces. “Good!” I said and I didn’t cry. I deprived my self from shedding those redeeming tears for so many reasons: Too many to expose them all now. I recollect detaching myself as far as possible, becoming the ultimate observer. Boy was I wrong. I needed those goddamn tears so bad I felt like vomiting. But I couldn’t cry. I occupied myself with capturing my family’s reactions and pain. I was a video camera focusing on everything with complete objectivity, detached, and not a judgment passed.
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I was the one who lowered his shinny black coffin into his last designated place. His last resort. His six feet under. How could they let me be the one to do it? Everybody vexed at the task and looked the other way. So I had to do it. Supposedly the tough one when it comes to matters of death. Yeah right! Perhaps I am the tough one when it comes to Death. Who knows? I ought to find out sometime. Some other time. People deal with death their own way; and they mourn in their own space. I do it inwardly, but I’m absent. Perhaps I’m doing it right now, in your presence. For every key stroked here and now, could be a tear shed there and then. Who knows. Will I ever stop typing…?