Into The Night

Alright. I don't exactly know what happened. OK, I do. My cousin died. And it feels like it should be that simple. Like when one decides not to talk for the rest of eternity, it's that simple. Naturally it's not.

Everyone in the neighborhood knew my cousin. She was one of the few who got to finish college in our neighborhood, and one of the few who got to teach, and who got to teach English in a private school.

She has a son, two years old, Josh, who was being his usual hypermakulit self when I got home yesterday at noon. Everyone was bustling about, calling up people over the phone, and cleaning up the place. They wouldn't let Josh go upstairs even if he persistently shouted, "Mama! Mama!" to their faces.

My aunts' movements were mechanical. Like they were preprogrammed to know what to do at a situation like this. My cousin's mother was talking to visitors, evidently after a good cry; my cousin's sister was packing things, greeted me hi and languidly motioned for me to go upstairs.

I didn't want to, but I did because well... that was what I was programmed to do at that time. So I did go up, and I went to my cousin's room. There were a few people around my cousin's bed -- co-teachers and some of our neighbors. One was crying while talking to another one.

No one noticed me standing near the door. I didn't want to be seen anyway. I was afraid if they did they would talk with me, ask me things, tell me things I didn't need to hear. I saw my cousin's balding head, and I could see her blanket moving. I thought hey she was still breathing. But apparently it was just the fan.

A few moments minus eternity I decided to go down. I couldn't think of anything coherent anyway. She was my cousin, and we were quite close. But no matter how much I tried to remember about her, I can't mix it up into something solid I could base the intense sadness I was (and still am) feeling. It seemed like she took my memories with her. I couldn't stand it.

Josh was still running around, probably wondering why people aren't paying any attention to him. He didn't know people around him were doing what they were programmed to do, and no one was tasked to take care of him. I went to him, told him to come with me outside. Because that was what I was programmed to do at a time like this.




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AFTERTHOUGHT: These are interesting times we live in. Sad, but interesting. A lot of souls are being claimed and moreso these days. But I recall one line from a poem by Dylan Thomas I think, which I firmly believe. "Do not go gently into the night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light."