Talents. Gifts. Abilities.
We are all blessed and cursed alike. Superstition is the blood which flows through my country and accordingly our dreams are harbingers of both the good and the bad.
De ja vu. We’ve all experienced it in some way or another. Likewise, we’ve all been prelude to these gifts of the universe. I believe we’ve all been able to see the future. Coincidences are the incarnation of fate. We shouldn’t ignore it.
In my culture, a dream of a wedding is the indication of death. So much so, that I know people who have gotten up and prayed, not knowing who the angel of death seeks. That night, I had a dream, not of a wedding, but a cemetery. For me, it is an omen, of freedom after pain. Change. I was scared that night. It was a dream that left an uneasy feeling inside me. All dreams of cemeteries do. And when I checked the time, and saw it was 3:00 a.m. I knew something was wrong. I was anxious. I needed the morning to come.
Loss. Sorrow. Emptiness.
I’ve never noticed how much we talked about the weather, till I no longer spoke of it. Grief is inevitable. Being unable to grieve is torture. For two weeks I have put on a brave face during the day and soaked my pillow at night, never fully but just enough. I have been singing funeral hymns religiously and headaches have been a constant.
One day, I thought I was going to lose it. But so far I’ve kept strong. Because why should I cry. This is something I find myself doing often; making my grief invalid. I am scared for the day of your send off, that my composure will break. But it has to, right? I mean it’s only valid that you mourn someone you’ve known your entire life.
Yes sir, I’m behaving, well trying to. My mother, grandmother? They’re doing just fine. The weather sir? The sky does what I cannot do, weep for you and the memories too.
Rest in eternal peace Mr. J…