All Too Human

A few days ago, an old guard passed away in the family. It's been a long time coming, and I think it's safe to say that most have been expecting it. But life is such an awesome thing that the weight of a matriarch's death is still a heavy burden. I spent an entire day sweeping the subject under the rug, much to my dad's confusion. Yesterday, it hit me that I was being inhuman. Yes it's awkward, yes I didn't know what to say. But isn't it more wrong to not be present, whatever that means these days, in such situations? Then I watched a part of Summer Wars. After the part where their matriarch passed away, I scrambled a few txts and sent them away.

"... because the saddest things in life are being hungry and being alone..."

I'm used to being both of those, sometimes in turn, sometimes at once. But I hardly felt sad. I quite enjoy it most of the time, in fact. Such is my inhumanity.

Then I took my mind off things by polishing my cymbals. They sit proudly in my room, glistening under the light. The medium, intimidating and thin. The ride, enormous and imposing. Light does that to you when you reflect it well. You only need to be polished every now and again.

I originally intended to write long and imaginative. But this week has been a bit of a quiet rollercoaster ride, and my words have failed me in this past hour. So many things I can write about, so many angles I can analyze from. But really, what else do I have to talk about other than us, humans being humans?

One man trying to find his way in the universe. What would his tomorrow bring? Which path should he take? There are no save points in life. You make your choices, and you don't look back. His sword arm tightens. "Whatever comes", he thought, "I can handle it". But his sword slashes the wind, his legs chase after shadows. He walks and travels far and wide. He sees much, gains much, listens a lot and speaks his part. Yet he has nothing. "Let your sword arm go", says a whisper. "Let go." The world is bigger than you. You, a survivor in this concrete jungle, let go. Live on, but don't forget you're human.

A woman fights her way under a steel sky. She puts her armor down and opens herself vulnerable to those who wants her help. She gives, and gives, and gives. A fountain never runs dry, as long as it keeps its water flowing. And so she gives, she gives, and she gives. Then it all becomes too much for her. A fighter, she refuses to sit down. But a human, she can only handle so much. Human, all too human. She finds herself down on the ground, without knowing why. She wants to keep going, but her self refuses to move forward. Rest, warrior, you will need it. Rest, child, you deserve it. There will be another day to fight, another day to save others. Remember you're not alone.

An old matriarch passed away. Two generations come and mourn. Few days of ceremony, then everything's back to normal. Everything? Nothing. Nothing will ever be the same. A man stood on farewell. Goodbye, he said, the last of your generation. Without you I wouldn't be here. Without the past, the present wouldn't be here, and the future wouldn't come tomorrow. Fare thee well, old generation, all of you. You are part of us, like you made us part of you when you were here. Goodbye, past. You are not nameless memories. You are real people, with real impact. Rest in peace, everybody. Rest assured, we will not waste this future you've paved for us.

Rest in peace
Opa, Oma, Mak Akoh
Fare thee well, all of you

We are one, but we're not the same
We hurt each other, and we do it again
But we have to carry each other
Carry each other

Hear us come, Lord
Hear us crawl!
Hear us knocking,
knocking at your door!