When you wake up every day to the same blabbing about misfortunate deaths, it becomes a part of your daily routine… Until it concerns someone of your own.
When young exceptional innocent creatures get snatched away so easily, we can’t but feel sorry and start questioning existence itself, again. Death is big, yet so small, devastating yet ridiculous. Death is instantaneous. Suddenly, we find ourselves stuck with a bunch of disorganized memories, flashes, regrets and philosophical thoughts.
Humans are weak indeed, but smart enough to cope with grieve. Some write down their emotions or get inspired to produce beautiful art, while others organize memorials and campaigns. Yes, we tend to ease out our pain by unleashing what we have within, and that, for me, is the secret behind human genius and sensitivity. Is it selfish to think that way? I believe we were all born selfish. There’s a part in each of us that needs to hold on to this life with a firm grip. We do whatever it takes. One might say we could even need something to believe in, if not ourselves.
I think every death should make us question life. What is life anyway? The majority describes it as a long dark tunnel with a blinding light at its very end, or considers it a sacrifice for something bigger, or even perhaps God’s way of giving us another chance… but what for? When trying to live by these standards, we’re not living at all. Life is neither a tunnel, nor a dark place. It is a colorful space where human beings interact, feel, try and deliver. How wonderful is that! If you travel for a vacation with your loved ones, do you enjoy every second of it from the moment it starts, or do you keep thinking about the tragedy of unpacking your suitcase when you get back?
When we lose our friends, as hard as it may be, we should not lose ourselves as well. Instead we should learn how to live properly for we can be next.
One thing is sure tough: whatever we believe in, when death strikes, we know they’re gone but we can still sense their presence in our “theatrical memory”, some old scrap books, and amazingly enough through them as well.
Always in my heart Hana…
Romy Rahhal, FM