Memoria

Three years back, at this very same spot, I clicked my heels with joy. I received the a-ok that I would have more than ten years to live. It was my first brush with mortality and the sheer exhilaration of being alive was intense.

A wry smile touches my lips now. I wish I can feel the same way again. I don't. It isn't because I take life for granted. I guess deep in my heart the question of "what if" always threatens to surface and it is a question that scares the hell out of me. Don't be mistaken. I'm not frighten of dying (maybe the pain of death). After all, we are all dying. What I'm frighten of is that I'm not living. More so when time is short.

I once asked mom why old people get more impatient as they age. Her simple answer was "Because time is running out." Is this why I wear my heart so apparently for all to see? To tie myself in knots when I'm taken for granted after investing myself in others? Even when everyone tells me that I should not put all that effort in for anybody if they don't do so first. Do I do all that because I'm afraid if I don't, I won't ever get a chance to? That time will really run out all of a sudden and I didn't live, love and care.

It is a tough balance between living and hurting. I think back to the memory of that day when just the ability to breathe brought a smile and heady happiness with envy. I wish for such a simple joy but for now it is only a memory.