It appears that I have this tendency of pouring everything out, surely not everything, but comparatively, more than the amount of things I talk about when it's not past midnight. must have something to do with being alone in the dark. there's that bit of pleasure, that serenity forming like a big soothing bubble around you. To be able to let thought runs freely. ah, the liberation.
my morning started out fairly early than usual with a sad news delivered to me in hurry by my roommate. her eyes were still swollen from sleeping on the left side of her bed, it didn't take me 10 seconds to be fully awake. One of our juniors, whom we had helped last night to get to the 1st floor by carrying her so her friends can take her to the hospitals, is gone forever. A shocking news no one expects to hear about. Rain was pouring the whole day.
"in Iban's culture, it means that she is crying", Estee lamented and it didn't surprise me, today's morning is nothing but gloomy. everyone gathered at their own crowd in every floor, talking so quietly bout the loss of their dear friend.
it made everyone reflect to the fact that life is unpredictable, that at any time of our lives, even when it is the most unexpected, death is inevitable and you need to prepare, not only for yourself but to the people you left behind.
It is the sudden leaving without proper goodbye that everyone scared of. the kind that almost resembles the feeling of watching a drama. the one that you had to wait for weeks for another episode to be broadcast-ed and just when it comes to most exciting part, the broadcasting network decided not to continue the show. it's a feeling of unfinished that haunts.
I ought to leave something for the people in my live to hang onto, like a letter to every person I know of, so they'll have a closure of whatever we had in our lives together.
but, alas, we don't know when our time of calling will be, and the question is, if that letter is enough, if I didn't left something out, something that had happened after the letter had been written? secret that never been told? we can never be sure.
There is no poetic way in putting this, but since we do not know when is the last day of our lives, can we just agree that no matter what, we forgive each other and let go of whatever we had in the past, and leaving only the fond memories for us to hang onto?
we don't really know, do we?