Growing up is cool. I mean, you get to do stuffs you’re not allowed to do before, stay up late, go hangout with friends without a chaperon, get drunk, date hot guys—not that I’ve tried, and just go wherever you want and go shopping—as long as you have the money. Well, it’s not all just about the fun. There’s also the responsibility to be responsible. You’re allowed to stay up late but you have the responsibility to wake up early; go hangout with friends but have the responsibility of finishing works/tasks on time that you left undone; get drunk but have the responsibility of never showing how your head hurts the next morning and do what you need to do; date hot guys but have the responsibility of enjoying them (HAHAHA!); and go wherever you want and go shopping as long you pay your bills.
Life is short. And as much as I enjoyed growing up, it could also mean a lifelong of stress causing problems. One of the reasons why I hate growing up is because you get to see people die. You know that feeling that you finally get to enjoy stuffs but slowly, the people that you know and cared for are dying or have died? It sucks. There’s this time that I wanted to meet my GI (it's an acronym my friends taught me; when translated: genuine Chinese or the people that were born in China but went to Philippines to try to their luck here) granddad to ask him about what’s it like to grow up there, to ask him how they interact with each other—not that they are some kind of an alien race but you know, just the curiosity of young kid. But I didn’t get to ask him those questions because like so many other friends and relatives that now lies in the earth—cold and dead, he died when I was a kid. Before I even get to picture him out as this granddad that could barely speak Tagalog but so fluent in our dialect, he died.
Recently one of my friend’s sister died. With just a snap, she died. Just like that. Without apparent signs of weakness or troubling symptoms, she died. Then just this morning, I received an sms from E saying R died. He was a friend. I’d like to believe that I was his friend. We never really had in-depth conversation. I used to kid around him but he doesn’t really return or acknowledge that I was trying my best to tell a joke. I saw him as someone you can’t easily joke around with. There was this time when I heard him laughing at some joke or I dunno. I was super amazed that I’ve actually heard him laugh. Like laugh, laugh. It’s weird but when I get to think about it now, I would say that I’m blessed to have heard it. His family didn’t told us—his classmates and friends. For some reason, they kept it. And it came as a total shock to everyone because he died almost a month ago and we didn’t have the opportunity to bid our goodbyes to him. I don’t even know he had some kind of sickness. Gosh, there so many things I don’t know about him. Well, we’re not really that close so…
The impact of the news was, I guess, different that it would have been if we were told earlier. We could have reminisced with what we could remember from him. And the reality and the weight of that truth is just awful. And it feels like there’s no time to grieve because it’s been almost a month. Some of us didn’t see him for like 4 years now and its…unexplainable. It feels like I’ve been phasing from this unexplainable thing. It's like...experiencing the five stages of grief all at the same time. And it definitely feels like we’re thrown to just accept it as it is because he’s been already buried and there's nothing we can do about it. I know some of the things that has happened but I don't think I can tell it to anyone. I don't want to cause further damage as I already have.
I know that our lives are not ours and that we don’t really know when we’re gonna die and that life’s too short. I know all those things and what to expect when someone dies (starting when mom died) but to get reaffirmed once in a while by those people you knew but you don’t expect to die…I don’t know.