Curiosities and Candid Musings

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Living through Death: Grief Talks

Conversations I She : I have come to accept that there is never an ending to this feeling, you just get used to it. You begin to welcome it to this space between the love you had and the vacuum from the love that left unannounced. Hoping that it will fill the vacuum more, and leave the remnants of love untouched. He :... I don't know if it will make sense. But mourning or grief doesn't exactly have an endpoint, right? You just learn to live with the loss. Grief may not be continuous. It hits you in bouts over a long period of time with different intensities. But just like grief, love for that person occurs the same way. She : Yet still, something is constant. At least for as long as I have been experiencing it. You feel like a ship lost afloat in the middle of the ocean amidst an infinite thunderstorm. Death is like...it’s like the anchor missing; the compass lost into the deep waters. You just accept and sail ahead, uncertain about where you will land ashore but knowing that ...

Living through Death: A letter of love to the ones no longer

Dear whose dearly starts with A, D, J, R, or the rest in the alphabets, I sat at your funeral by myself with my own self. It was in a dim room with grey four walls, the kind of metaphor poets use for representation. I am trying to be cliché here, so this room is a representation of us. Just that I am the only occupant now. I opened your coffin again. I open your coffin every time the eerie sounds in the room bring back flashbacks of our juvenile days. But from my honest experiences, it is never special. I am only welcomed with the foul smell of your rotting memory and you are gradually fading away more as you turn into dust. I intentionally keep the windows open hoping that the winds will carry your thoughts away. So today, I told myself “For the last time”, this shall be the last time I will open your casket. I am thinking that had I chosen dramatics I might have been famous by now or if people only spoke in figures of speech, I might even be a member of the Language...

Living through Death: On Pain

Have man succeeded in putting words to vividly express the feelings inside? Has the world’s most melancholic poet who made her readers cry, feel that much depth of pain or more. yet still, words failed. Have words failed us? Pain being subjective to the beholder; And like the varying shades of indigo at the mill, our own sorrows rests. Not bright, but all deep-dark and in varians of aches. Are we but ruthless to seek words for our miseries; Words to channel sorrows and make another feel what already is killing us inside? Of our hundred highs and lows in one minute, to be multiplied to a thousand lows and a thousand highs on one and another more. Are we but painting gloom in this world? Or has word and language failed us all, that we seek a way in others who makes an attempt? Has Pain its language? Or does it take form in acts alone: of rage, or loss, silence and all the moods to question morality. But what if Action was not what we sought, but instead adjectives and sentences. Can...

Living through Death: Remembering the dead on Forgetfulness

My fears have only set in. I was starting to forget you- Memories of you passing slowly day by day. It has started with your face, that smile and the feeling of your calm. I was starting to find comfort in the spaces that were created by your long absence. On the first months and years, I wanted it all to go. I hated the loneliness. I wanted to end the pain that hurt till the depths of my aching heart. But now I want to steal back every second from each fleeting minute towards Oblivion. I want to remember in vivid clarity each wrinkling curves of your smile even as your face begin to fade in my memory. And in between the cacophony of this little town's hustle and bustle, I earnestly listen in search for each syllable of your voice gradually fading away from this healing heart. I want to remember you, And I always will.

Living through Death: A preliminary examination

Death is hard work. Death is hard work for the ones alive, but not for the dead . True to what it appears to be, the ones living are those who have to endure Death, the dead are dead and gone. A look at the years of bereavement puts us on a vast lands cape of rugged terrain and an uncertainty of what lies beyond the horizon. It is the Unknown that everyone fears. Should the dead fear the Unknown for no one knows what lies ahead after the last breath, but they leave to rest in peace. For the dead, dying must not be hard work. For the dead, there is nothing unknown, for they know there only lies rest and peace away from the perils of the daily world of man. Death is hard work for the ones alive. It is the toil and effort to navigate through the flickering compass of grief on this dull and rugged terrain. Death is the acceptance of the unknown beyond the horizon. Death for the living is the effort to move ahead every single day. Death for the living is to carry that heart left in...

Measures

There cannot be Happiness without Sadness. If Sadness never existed from the beginning; t hen Happiness would never be sought after like a treasure. If melancholy never ailed the heart; t hen the happy feet would have danced on-and-on in glee. Sadness is measured with Happiness and, Happiness with Sadness. In Sadness one seeks Happiness; And Sadness never in Happiness. Happiness and Sadness seen as measuring beauty; but Happiness and Sadness seen independently.