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Paradox
“I’m dying.”
Somebody told me that, and at that time I didn’t have any idea if she was just bluffing or simply making fun of me. After telling me those two words, she turned her back to me and started walking toward the crowd. My eyes followed her graceful movements. When she reached the stage, she raised her hands, swayed it on the air, mimicking the rhythm of the music. She laughed, screamed and talked, like she didn’t drop a bomb using her words in front of me minutes ago.
I shook my head. I glanced at her one more time before I headed to the exit.
When I was already alone, with no loud music and different voices talking in unison, a strange thought occupied my mind.
What did the word ‘dying’ really mean? Death could have only one literal denotation, but how about connotation? If someone told me she was dying, was that girl referring to the death of her body; about physical death, about being breathless and lifeless?
I arrived at our house at almost midnight. I was expecting the place to be quiet, with no lights inside. My parents didn’t like turning the lights on when they were sleeping, as well as my grandmother.
And seeing the lights, illuminating the silhouettes of the people inside the house, made my heart beat faster. There were shouts and cries around. I took a deep breath because part of me knew what was happening.
Right at that moment, my assumptions were right. My parents were crying while staring at my grandmother, whose life was about to end. Their eyes were begging for her to fight, to stay with us and continue to be our sunshine and anchor.
With her labored breathing, hands shaking, and tears in her wrinkled face, my grandma spoke.
“I’m dying...”
Then, she held my parents’ hands and smiled.
She smiled like she wasn’t dying.
She smiled like she wasn’t scared.
Out of the blue, the girl who told me the same thing filled my mind. But this time, I remembered the details clearly. The way emotions flickered in her eyes as she spoke those words, the way she bit his lips after, like she was afraid to tell me another word, and how she smiled at me before walking to the crowd. It didn’t reach her eyes.
It wasn’t the same with Grandma’s smile.
Comparing their smiles, I already have the answers to my question.
You can die without really dying.
You can live without really living.
The former was for my grandmother, the latter was for the girl I’d met.
© HoneyKegod
Somebody told me that, and at that time I didn’t have any idea if she was just bluffing or simply making fun of me. After telling me those two words, she turned her back to me and started walking toward the crowd. My eyes followed her graceful movements. When she reached the stage, she raised her hands, swayed it on the air, mimicking the rhythm of the music. She laughed, screamed and talked, like she didn’t drop a bomb using her words in front of me minutes ago.
I shook my head. I glanced at her one more time before I headed to the exit.
When I was already alone, with no loud music and different voices talking in unison, a strange thought occupied my mind.
What did the word ‘dying’ really mean? Death could have only one literal denotation, but how about connotation? If someone told me she was dying, was that girl referring to the death of her body; about physical death, about being breathless and lifeless?
I arrived at our house at almost midnight. I was expecting the place to be quiet, with no lights inside. My parents didn’t like turning the lights on when they were sleeping, as well as my grandmother.
And seeing the lights, illuminating the silhouettes of the people inside the house, made my heart beat faster. There were shouts and cries around. I took a deep breath because part of me knew what was happening.
Right at that moment, my assumptions were right. My parents were crying while staring at my grandmother, whose life was about to end. Their eyes were begging for her to fight, to stay with us and continue to be our sunshine and anchor.
With her labored breathing, hands shaking, and tears in her wrinkled face, my grandma spoke.
“I’m dying...”
Then, she held my parents’ hands and smiled.
She smiled like she wasn’t dying.
She smiled like she wasn’t scared.
Out of the blue, the girl who told me the same thing filled my mind. But this time, I remembered the details clearly. The way emotions flickered in her eyes as she spoke those words, the way she bit his lips after, like she was afraid to tell me another word, and how she smiled at me before walking to the crowd. It didn’t reach her eyes.
It wasn’t the same with Grandma’s smile.
Comparing their smiles, I already have the answers to my question.
You can die without really dying.
You can live without really living.
The former was for my grandmother, the latter was for the girl I’d met.
© HoneyKegod
