It's Here, It's Now

I have grown up so much in a few hours, more than I have in the last one year. Nineteen is long gone, it's a lot more and above that now.

About nine hours ago, I was dreading the immense feeling of responsibility that seemed to overwhelm me as I thought about accepting admission into med school. I felt my easy life floating away into the ocean of NIC numbers, proper signatures, pay order receipts and so much more that was beyond my horizon for now.

And here I am now, welcoming the feeling of responsibility in its entirety because medicine is just that - the responsibility of patience, perseverance and so much more.

Salt

I was once told by a friend and recently reminded that "Sometimes what holds you together and tears you apart are the same thing".

It was like a tight slap in the face. A tight slap that just appears out of nowhere as soon as you turn your head; a slap before which the wind doesn't touch your face to warn you about the fall from the cliff of self-esteem.

I was floating in a sea of emotions, watching the dance of the crystals on the water's surface. The day had been tiring but very constructive, as I saw it and the sea was where I decided to retire for the night. The crystals danced with the current, intoxicated by the touch of moonlight. The sky was clear- like my heart. I liked clouds but I was grateful for this clarity because I loved the presence of the moon to make my picture perfect. Absorbed in the moment as if I belonged to canvas, without thinking, I let go and then it hit me with a huge splash. Yes, the icy water rose and slapped me. I whirled and hit the ground face down.

I thought it would carry me away and I would lose the parts of me that it hadn't already claimed. I waited for the wrath with eyes closed because I was afraid the sight would be too agonizing. The water receded, leaving me with a bleeding nose, sodden in self-loath. I tried gathering what was mine, the bits of self-esteem strewn across the surface among the shreds of glass that looked no more like crystals. I groped around, making frantic, vain attempts to grab on to them before the salt burned them and they disappeared. I stopped as I smelled my blood, which was no more a surprise than the consequence of trusting the angry sea.

I now understood that the sky was clear in fear of the rising waves, to make way for the storm; not to honour my wish.

The Odds of the End

Death is painful - something we all know.

For some it's serene - an effortless transition from one content life to another; for others it's a matter of relief and for another lot, it's the most excruciating experience of their life and ironically death.

However, for those who stand by and watch, it's always painful. Always.
It doesn't matter how, when or why it happened, but only that it did. It doesn't matter if you were the cold-blooded murderer or the helpless onlooker whose arms became the final abode of the departing soul. It doesn't matter if the blood that stains your hands was a product of the gash you gave someone or it's there because you held the warm, living body that became cold and dead in a matter of moments. Either way, pain is a constant companion- irrespective of who feels it.

It brings us pain to know that we can't do anything to hold onto those breaths that are softly slipping away. Anguish grips us as we realize in essence how the fire of life is about to be extinguished and leave behind the cold, dry embers of a lost life, a lost soul, a lost world. And we stand and watch, crushed by that helplessness, waiting for the curtains to fall and the lights to explode into the creeping darkness that threatens to engulf us and all that's dear to us.We wait for the burns to heal with the light that can burn this pain. And we wait.

But more often than not, light chooses to travel into the distant depths of the universe, up, above and away from where we are. From the stars, to some other stars and infinity - where every soul travels - at some point in its life, or death. Yes, that's where we believe they are: somewhere within infinity, with that light that left us to reach them, help them, guide them, hold them. It is almost relieving to bear that pain, that suffocating embrace of the dark if we believe that the light leaves us and somehow helps the ones we love.

Up, above and away are all so distant and yet so close. They are so hard to touch but they touch our lives so easily. They define transcendence from our troubles, offer an escape, only a very impractical and untouchable one. But they offer something, even if it is another life - that after death.

My exams finished today and I'd thought I'd write a blog post overflowing with glee of some sort or at least something that reflected freedom. The moon was full tonight and oh so beautiful when I went out for a walk and I decided to write something related to that but then I had an encounter with death. Most of us might consider this encounter a very trivial one and it probably is but I just can't feel that way.

Walking back home, I saw a dead eagle on the road-side. My eyes bulged out for a moment when I realized what it was and I got terribly upset. I actually felt my heart getting heavy! I'm not exactly an animal rights activist (although I do believe that animals should be treated nicely because WE are humans), but grief did grip me for long enough to produce this morose piece.

It was not the eagle or it's death that hurt so much, perhaps. It was the closeness of death, right beneath my eyes, the fine line between the two phases that is so easily lost to sight. Seeing the eagle's neck lolled to its left; its body that was previously vibrant with life, turned into a static wooden frame; the grey shutters on the eyes and the beak covered in dust made me want to kneel down and start weeping. It's been so long since I've felt that way and back then it used to be where humans were concerned. I've seen dead animals before but never have I felt quite so broken by the sight.

I guess it's just because I haven't paid attention to any deaths in the past two months. Also, it was the realization that this living body that soared to great heights of blue oblivion would have bolted to the ground and lost its life in a snap. The simplicity of transition between these two extremes of what lies up above and away against that which takes one beneath the ground is just so paradoxical and ironic. This battle between warm and cold, black and white, heights and depths is what maintains the continuity of life - by ending some.

It is an act of greatly low stature to end a life. It is a matter of great pain, patience and strength to watch an end. I can't imagine how great it would be to have the chance to save a life.