Alone at the Destination

All events that took place from the minute I was born were leading up to this very moment, and the irony is both fascinating and almost funny.

My crawls turned to walks, as I learnt the emotions which triggered laughter and cry, kindergarten propelled me through the channels of institutional education, during which time I hit the crossroads of love and sex.

Internships prepared me for the working world of income earners, where I realized the existence of greed, backstabbing and soul-selling.

Religions breathed but the many varieties made it conflicting, complicated and confusing.

And by the time I had independence to be on my own, I was already aware that the human world consisted of an approximate seven billion rotating souls, a biological production line of seven billion people, where every given birth was hope to create at least one other human; my parents had done their part, by giving birth to me.

The primary goal was to accomplished four worldly achievements, in order to feel or be considered successful or in other words, done your part; job, marriage, children and a home were the check-boxes.

This goal was set by no one other than humans, around the time when civilized societies were being formed, and whichever humans did not tick these boxes were considered to be underachievers, losers or simply uncivilized, which is again determined by us humans as negative.

But before this, Food and Shelter were deemed highest in priorities.

Love was interesting, it offered the application of another person’s value to us, where we are acknowledged and adored, feeling special, important and wanted, but Love is shadowed by a bitter-sweet notion and runs slyly alongside hate, its ultimate rival, and although only a small compared percentage ever made the full flip, most have been affected by hate’s piercing stinging rays, resulting into heartbreaks, pain and suffering; the discovered truth is that love should be handled with care or be feared.

Sex could be described as a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but much better.

I say a peanut butter and jelly sandwich because with the sandwich, the jelly is only there to trick our taste-buds as the nutritious, but bland, peanut butter discreetly slides by.

Sex is the key to human reproduction, in which case the ‘reproduction’ mirrors the peanut butter’s purpose, in the sandwich, and the sweet taste and feeling that we experience during sex, mirrors the jelly’s sweetness, in the sandwich; the reason why having it once is never enough.

For a long time, I chased the dollar like I was taught, but after a while I realized that stacking the dollar was an illusion, no different than chasing one’s own shadow; how can I not catch it, when its right in front of me?

The simple answer is knowing that it is just not possible.

Greed corrupts the soul, making it unworthy to even be considered for recycling, while backstabbing energizes hate and soul-selling is suicidal; activities of having a wealthy ambition.

A very small percentage of humans are truly unemployed; truth is, we are all workers, it is in our nature to create one goal or complexity after another; therefore, we are always doing something, always busy. But if our work, despite its purpose of good to mankind does not have a financial return, those activities are considered worthless and so is the person behind it. (Legacies have no worth without death.)

All religions believe in gods and most mutually agree on the idea of peace, but differs on a vast scale about other views, and for this reason I live my life with exercises of my own beliefs, which may or may not mirror some religions.

My independence led to quite a few relationships and although I parented several children, the only two who actually came from my loin, never felt my care.

I have had several jobs and collected several pay-checks, but something about doing the same thing for too long didn’t feel right to me, so I changed jobs a lot. I entered into marriage too, which is nothing more than a committed relationship, only with legal documents; some last, most don’t, like any other relationship.

Homes, I have made several, but like jobs, I did not like the idea of living any one place too long, so I moved home a lot.

So many events, I could write a few books about all the people, the places and my activities. Still, here I am, among some seven billion people but still alone.

Checked the boxes, a few time too.

Fell in and out of love.
Had sex until I lost the drive.
Chase the dollar until I retired.
Avoided greed, backstabbing and soul-selling.
Believe in a God and lived peacefully.

Despite our pace and steering, alone is our final destination.

My Pen Bleeds for Mom

Every time I have to write about my personal pains or the loss of a love one, It is described as my pen bleeding, even though these days I very rarely write with an actual pen, you know, with having accesses to high tech mobile phones, tablets, laptop and PCs.

Still, I like to be identified by a pen because that was my original choice of tool when I started my writing career, and today my pen bleeds again.
My mom is dead!
Yes, that’s what I said.
Today, my mom passed away.

Well, she’s not actually my mother she’s my wife’s mother, but to be honest, I never really knew her name, well I knew it, but I have never referred to her by her first name and I never referred to her using her last name neither; come to think of it, I’ve always called her Mom, so in all accuracy, let me say again, “Today, mom died!”

She was 83 years old, lived a long eventful life and gave birth to six children, all girls, and I was fortunate to marry the baby of the lot. Plus she’d been married to dad for more than 52 years; wow, right?

So I’ve always thought too, and me and baby girl sat that milestone as a reachable marker for ourselves too.
Mom had been poorly for years, tough as steel I usually say, that’s from the numerous amount of times she’d been in and out of the hospitals and we thinking that we’d lost her, but no, every time we thought that, old girl pulled through to be here for us one more time.

However, today it wasn’t so, no hospitals, no drama, just a long lengthy sleep.

When I got the news, I felt pressured with the responsibility to break it to my wife and son, it was as if an apple was stuck in my throat. I was afraid to say it, but knew that I had to. I was wishing that at that very moment, some magical force could change the reality and give Earth another day or another week with mom, but again it wasn’t so, and I had to utter the sad truth.

My wife wailed in sadness and my son muffled his pain as much as he could, until tears seeped from his adolescent eyes.

Me, I was still struggling with the apple in my throat, trying to stay strong for them while suppressing my own tears.

But in the midst of that, at a split second, I thought, “C’mon, why moan?”

And after giving it thought, I realize that mom’s passing was a beautiful story in itself.

She lived a fulfilling 83 years, had 6 children, grandchildren and even great grandchildren, she never lived to see any of them get buried into the ground and she found a matrimonial bliss which lasted until her passing; two rare luxuries, which are only achieved by few humans. And although mom was sometimes alone, she was never lonely, the walls of her home is overran with her life’s journey and memories, photographs of family members and events, which framed some particular treasured eras of her life, gifts and personal collectables, legacies of mom’s existence.

The last time wife spoke to mom, she was out of breath from just walking to the phone, and after questioned, she suggested that her time was nearing, but amazingly her suggestion was without fear and duress; it was as if she was welcoming her long last sleep.

Old girl was tired, and as much as she’d like to hang in there one more time for us, she just couldn’t; not this time.

I will miss mom, miss her timeless smiles, miss her words of wisdom and encouragement, I will miss her resentment for family feuds, the Peacemaker that she was, and I will miss being silly around her just to get a little more of that sunshiny smile she possessed, but I will not cry, at least, I will try not to. And I will try to model her life and hope that my wife and I will make her just as proud of our union as we are of hers with us, dad and the extended family.

I’m sad that my pen bleeds again but I write with joy in Mom’s memory.