Tragically, I Awoke

The feeling is mutual. Wherever you go, where your eyes set its gaze, no doubt, you will feel that certain irregular pulse somewhere in your body. Do you mistake that as some minor physical ailment? Do you panic and go into a frenzy for a medical emergency? Rather, would you just stop looking out and look inside for a moment?

The most difficult thing I had to go through when entering public blogs was to express passion in certain areas. It was easy to exert a surface wind upon an ocean to create a tiny crater ripple, but to amass a huge storm, where would the fuel come from? The energy to produce such a force is massive and not easily initiated with the day to day happenings of simply getting older.

Of course, there is only so much external means one can use, to fuel the desires to set ablaze lingering aches and pains of the past before that same external mean starts to take a toll on yourself. It’s an unfortunate result.

Indeed, there are those who would drown their day to day sorrows until their minds rot into a festering pile of dying brain and liver matter. Then there are those who replace that means with something that common society deem ‘positive’ such as sports, new friendships, new hobbies, new things to extend one’s lifespan in the form of mental and emotional extension.

The question is:

If destruction is considered a negative thing, then when is death accepted as a positive thing?

The rhetorical question that follows that would be:

How can there be new life or more life, if death will never occur?

Immortality is something sought after by all for centuries. Humans calling themselves gods – emperors and empresses of huge empires, kings and queens of varying nations in varying time lines, shamans, priests, wizards and alchemists, and even corporate executives and scientists; all seek the one thing to prolong their lives. At the very least, to stay looking young and healthy.

In that search for immortality, we go to great lengths to forget our past. Rather, to make room for the future, the potential, the new. There is no room for the old. There is no room to remember for who fought for you, for your lives, for the lives of your parents, your grand parents, your ancestors. There is no room to remember the tidbits of helping hands throughout your initial years, the years that pass by the second, by the moment, by every twilight’s rest. Indeed, eventually, we won’t even remember ourselves.

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