Memento Mori
The break in Teutonia was like a gasp of fresh air. I needed the break, and the 15 days or so made me realize made me think deeply about the meaning of life and how things would or should be. To say that I'm deliriously happy with my life at this point in time is a delusional over-statement, but I have a lot of things to be grateful about.
I have recently been preoccupied with thoughts about life, or rather, the end of life. There are some parts of me that still dwell in the irrational fear of death. The fear in itself is instinctual, mindless and for most bits, uncontrollable. This was the part that I wished I was more religious. What would death mean to me? Would I know that I am dead? Would I feel anything when I die? Is death painful (Natural Death, that is)?
And then, I begin to ask another set of questions. Who's gonna be affected when I'm gone? Who will be grieving when I go? Who will actually miss me? Narcissistic, I know, but I think I'm entitled. :)
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It was the last day in Germany, and I had some time to do a bit of shopping before boarding the plane back home. Being typically Singaporean (and Man, as Tessa would say) I completed my shopping in about half an hour. Since I had to wait for Tessa to finish her shopping, I decided to step into the Katharinenkirche and take a seat. I put my shopping bags on the floor and looked around. I saw an old lady sitting on the pew opposite me. She had her shoes taken off, and she was just whiling her time away in the church. She took out a pamphlet to examine, and was smiling serenely to herself. She stretched her legs, as only old ladies do, and seemed to be enjoying herself in her quiet moments, despite having nothing do do.
It then struck me as how her mannerism and easy smile reminded me of my late grandmother.
I also realized that it has been a year since my hababa has passed away, and it always surprises me that the sting of grief has not diminished through the year. Time does not heal the heart's wound. Love does.
I spent the next thirty minutes in reminiscent of my grandmother, uncaring of the tears that came.
I miss her. I think I'll always will.
I have recently been preoccupied with thoughts about life, or rather, the end of life. There are some parts of me that still dwell in the irrational fear of death. The fear in itself is instinctual, mindless and for most bits, uncontrollable. This was the part that I wished I was more religious. What would death mean to me? Would I know that I am dead? Would I feel anything when I die? Is death painful (Natural Death, that is)?
And then, I begin to ask another set of questions. Who's gonna be affected when I'm gone? Who will be grieving when I go? Who will actually miss me? Narcissistic, I know, but I think I'm entitled. :)
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It was the last day in Germany, and I had some time to do a bit of shopping before boarding the plane back home. Being typically Singaporean (and Man, as Tessa would say) I completed my shopping in about half an hour. Since I had to wait for Tessa to finish her shopping, I decided to step into the Katharinenkirche and take a seat. I put my shopping bags on the floor and looked around. I saw an old lady sitting on the pew opposite me. She had her shoes taken off, and she was just whiling her time away in the church. She took out a pamphlet to examine, and was smiling serenely to herself. She stretched her legs, as only old ladies do, and seemed to be enjoying herself in her quiet moments, despite having nothing do do.
It then struck me as how her mannerism and easy smile reminded me of my late grandmother.
I also realized that it has been a year since my hababa has passed away, and it always surprises me that the sting of grief has not diminished through the year. Time does not heal the heart's wound. Love does.
I spent the next thirty minutes in reminiscent of my grandmother, uncaring of the tears that came.
I miss her. I think I'll always will.