This too shall pass
A while ago, Mian recommended a Japanese film (Departures/Okuribito) to me, because she thought I'd like it like she did. She didn't elaborate much on the film, except for the fact that it won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film at the 2009 Oscars, so I went to google it myself. After realising that a large part of the film is on funerals, I avoided watching it.
I'm not good at dealing with departures and funerals scare me. I went for my uncle's service in Malacca a few years ago, but I ran away the night before the actual ceremony. I still have memories of hearing the nails being hammered into the coffin, my brother crying, thinking that we would never get to see her face again and the finality of reality setting in. I can deal with the memories, but I can't deal with reality.
I'm so tired of running away.
After some contemplation, I wanted to know what made this film worthy of an Academy Award, so I watched it anyway. The pace of the film is slow, so much so that I got distracted a couple of times. Because of that, however, there was a calm sense of strength underlying the development of the plot, flowing serenely with the deep, soothing notes of the cello, played by the protagonist. It is definitely different from all the Hollywood Blockbusters with its notable quiet charm, but I shall reserve my judgment on whether it really deserves an Academy Award.
I saw it though - the beauty of death.
No matter if you are tired of loving or tired of hating; whether you are suffering or in pain; whether you are crying and feel your heart breaking; whether you are depressed or disappointed, angry or upset - such is life and it ends with death, but so do joy and the happiness of living. To know that there is an end to all our pain and happiness, is life comforting or cruel?
Death may be inevitable, but it doesn't mean we don't have to live. In fact, all the more we should live till it drains us, love till it hurts, try till we fail, because someday, this too shall pass.