Choice: That’s All We Got!

When was the last time you made a decision because you wanted to make it? Because you wanted to have something or do something in your life even though the world advised against it. By world I mean parents, spouse, family, friends, neighbors, co-workers etc.

Why is it that people who never took an ounce of risk in their life want you to not take it? Why do they think that their line-of thought must be what you should follow? Sure they might be your well-wishers and they don’t want you to get hurt but why must they say that their path is the right path? Why does your willingness to get hurt or to take that risk must not be considered? Aren’t they in someway seeking the validation of their choices by forcing them upon you?

What’s wrong if a man willingly decides to quit his job and take care of household chores while the wife willingly decides to work? Why should we frown upon that? Yes, they’re not conforming to the expectations of the society but if it’s working for them, why the hell should society get in the way? What if you want to be the part of a different society, the one that shares your philosophy of life? Isn’t that the whole concept of being in a society? Of course, as with many other concepts, the concept of society too has been mutilated and transformed into this ugly phenomenon where the aim is to do better than your neighbor. Whatever happened to love thy neighbor.

I believe that there’s no harm in living your life the way you do, as long as that’s what you want. You want to lead a risk averse life, that’s fine. You want to do a job, take a job. You want to earn money, go and make it happen. You want to dive from a cliff, just jump already. Everything is fine as long as that’s what you want to do. Being stuck at some place when all you want to be some place else, that’s not fine but unfortunately that’s too on you. You’re in a particular situation because you chose to be in it.

You got married because your parents thought it’s the right time, three years down the line you realize your marriage isn’t working anymore. Who will you blame? Listen to the “society“, and they won’t let you get out of it either. What will you do? Continue to suffer? Whatever is it that you decide, remember one thing and remember it all your life, IT. WAS. YOUR. CHOICE. You have nobody else to blame but yourself.

Stop doubting yourself. Stop comparing your achievements, your misery with that of others. Make a promise to yourself that no matter what you choose you’ll put yourself first. At the end you the day, your prime loyalty lies with you.


Image Credits:


The Forest of Life

I don’t believe I can save someone’s life. Ever. I can prolong it by a few years but I certainly can’t save it. How can I save something from the inevitable? Not even Gods, if they exist, have that kind of power. It’s the nature’s law. What is born must die.

Besides, what is the point in saving something as meaningless as life? Don’t get confused. I am neither negating the concept of life nor I am against it. I am merely saying that life, inherently, is meaningless. Think about it for a moment.

Life has various other forms. It can be an ant, an elephant, a fish, a sandalwood tree etc. What is the meaning of their life? What purpose are they serving on earth? Do they even have one?

Tough questions to answer but they are misleading. Even if we try to answer them, we’d find an answer that is inclined with human psychology. We may interpret many things from their lives but ultimately what we’re trying to answer is how their life is meaningful to us, humans.

That Napoleon found inspiration in a spider proves this. The spider was merely going about it’s daily activities, it didn’t teach him that lesson. It was Napoleon who observed what it was doing and drew some meaning out of it. Why are we obsessed with finding meaning in each and everything, anyway? Why is it hard for us to accept that like other forms of life, our life has no inherent meaning? Why do we see things even when there’s nothing to see? Stagnant water is just that, stagnant water, why then we look for a life lesson in it?

It’s all in the mind. And it is capable of doing things. Look around, you’ll find yourself surrounded by the wonders human mind is capable of creating. Read history, you’ll know the blunders human mind is capable of committing. Visit a prison, you’ll be repelled by the brutality human mind is capable of performing. Fascinating, isn’t it!

If one were to believe media reports, human mind is going rogue. More and more everyday. Studies from around the world have shown that actions performed by humans are literally, killing the nature. The question arises then, why would nature create something that is capable of destroying it? Allow me to answer it by another question, why would humans create something (Artificial Intelligence) that we fear would destroy us one day? The answer is simple. Because we can. Because we have that kind of power and we love to play God.

Who are we then to say that humans aren’t just another experiment of nature? It created us because it could. It created and destroyed dinosaurs because it could. Why do we want to believe that some unworldly power is responsible for our creation? Isn’t that wishful thinking!

Too many questions and very few answers. Or maybe we already know the answers but aren’t willing to accept them because they seem ludicrous.

A word of advise, if you’re happy with your life the way it is don’t think about these questions. Forget that you even read this post. Close the tab and be done with it. Because if you tread ahead on this line of thought, sooner or later you’ll realize everything around you is nothing but a well crafted illusion.


Cover Source: DeviantArt

The Corollary of a Disease

If there’s one thing I am sacred to death of it’s death by disease. This is a fear I don’t want to face because there’s on winning with this one. Consider it for a second and tell me if I am wrong?

Over the years, I have lost a few of my family members to the brutality of diseases and every time that happened, it stirred something within me. It reminded me of my mortality. I felt like I was walking on a tight rope, with something very fragile in my hands.

No matter how much care I take, a light gust of wind would all it take to throw me off the rope.

Imagine, the people who were once as sturdy as an Oak, wither away slowly. Slowly, like the tree whose bark has been infested with termites. Like the bark, their body crumbled as the infestation grew. How merciless can a disease be? It breaks a person, physically as well as mentally. It shakes the entire foundation of one’s being. How a once self-reliant person becomes helpless in just a matter of days? You may have lost someone close to you to a disease as well, you know how difficult it is to watch such a transition let alone go through it.

If there’s any positive aspect to this silent, merciless and often brutal concept, it’s the humbling effect it has on one’s spirit. No matter how strong one is, it forces them to acknowledge their inherent weakness, their brittle fragility. Of course, the one who is suffering has no option but even the ones who are around them experience this effect, to a certain extent.

I don’t know why I am sharing this with you. Maybe I am too sacred and want someone to share this with me. Maybe I want you to stop doing, whatever is it you’re doing, for a second, and understand the gravity of what I’ve written above.

To be honest, I don’t know what lies ahead for me and neither do you. All we can do is take care of ourselves, of those close to us, of those who need us and of those who are suffering but don’t mean anything to us. Not everyone is fortunate enough to have a loving and caring family. Can’t we be there for them? Shouldn’t we ease their pain if we could?


Image Source: United Academics

A Sombre Situate of an Invisible Man

It was the busiest street in the city. It yielded to an intersection of roads leading in five directions. Cars, scooters, bus, rickshaws, tempo, bikes, cycles and people on foot were flowing from all directions only to be headed in their own. During the day it was almost impossible for a vehicle to not touch at least two others. Often, this was followed by a minor incident of road rage. Yet the traffic flowed non-stop. The intersection was manned by at least 7 ‘mamus’ and a Police Chowki but to a casual observer their efforts would have appeared to be in vain. The so called travelers would usually be in utmost hurry and too tortured to give a hoot.

While all this was happening, in the center of the city, an invisible man was walking in the middle of the street, close to the divider but not on it. He wasn’t invisible invisible, he was made invisible by the incapability of the busy travelers to give a hoot. Like we all do every once in a while.

This man, there was something odd about him. He was walking very slowly. As a person with sorrow would walk. He was walking barefooted on that piping hot asphalt, in the middle of the day. His hair were long and shabby as if they hadn’t been washed and combed in ages. Similar was the plight of his face. He had only one piece of cloth on his body, an old fashioned jangia. Even that was loosely worn, such that it failed in it’s purpose to hide his rear. He didn’t appear older than 40. His eyes, his eyes, there..there it was, in his eyes. His eyes were half-red, sunken and they bore enormous pain.

He seemed lost, physically, mentally and spiritually. Imagine what could cause a man to walk almost naked, in the busiest street of the city, in the middle of the day and not giving a hoot. Even the best of us on our worst of days would be much better placed than him. Then what could cause him such misery? It wasn’t just lack of money. It must have been something more. Something that robbed his soul and left the living body to wander alone.

Alone. Yes, probably that’s what he was. In the world full of 7 billion people, on the busiest street of the city, he was alone. No one to call family. No friends. It wasn’t the pain in his eyes that I saw, it was the loneliness, the feeling of being neglected by the world. The feeling that no one wanted him. How would that feel? Scary, frightening, presence of a huge hole where there should have been a heart, massively depressing. How a child would feel when left alone in the dark to face his demons. But eventually, numb.

Isn’t that the worst a person could feel?

This nameless man, he wasn’t as invisible as he thought for he caught my eye, got stuck in my mind and I created this. If you read this through, now you know him too. We may never know this man’s identity and that’s on me. But we can do this. Next time, when we see such a man, let’s buy them a cup of tea and get to know their story. It might cost us a few minutes but it might mean a world to them.

Do think about it!

If you have such a story and would like to share, please do share. Don’t hold yourself back.

The Time Machine

It starts with a bead of sweat on my forehead. Then a tinge of pain in my chest. Gradually, it affects my breathing. Soon, I am gasping and fighting hard to keep my heart bursting through the rib cage. My stomach contracts and shoves up it’s contents, if any, up my throat.

At this point, my head is covered in sweat and my vision is replaced by white light. A sense of panic takes over, my muscles spasm and I start to shiver. On some days, my otherwise calm and compose bladder becomes overactive and leaks. My body is not in my control anymore. It refuses to listen to me. I feel like I am falling. I am not actually falling, just what I imagine it would feel like to fall from a 60 storied building. The adrenaline rush, the sense of uncertainty and an overarching fear of impending pain. You get it..don’t you?

What is happening to me? You, being a first time observer wonder. He must be in the midst of a terrible nightmare. Should I wake him up or wait for him to wake up on his own. You can see my wet pillow, my shivering body gasping for breath and probably the wet bed, if you happen to catch me on a bad day. What would you do? For all you know, I might be fighting with death at that very moment.

You choose to wait and allow me to suffer. Why would you do that? I don’t know, probably you want to see how it ends or may be you find it funny and decide to continue being entertained. Ask yourself, why?

Luckily, for me (and probably unluckily for you), I wake up, SCREAMING (imagine the loudest scream you’ve ever heard)…AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA……I take a  minute or two to realize that it was a dream, a bad one at that, but for some reason the panic continues. I am still gasping for my breath, my muscles still spasm, my heart is pounding like a Royal Enfield Thunderbird 500 CC and I am still screaming…AAAAAAAAAA…AAAAAA.

Meanwhile you, the silent observer, are trying to calm me down. I hear your voice but your words are lost on me. You pat my back, hand me a glass of water, shake me violently and do everything else you could to bring me back. But your efforts go in vain. Frustrated, you decide to get physical. You hold me in your arms, look me in the eyes and bring your hand closer to my face.



Finally, I stop. I Look around and give you a tight hug. I hold you like a drowning man holds a wooden piece. You try to sooth me. It works.

You apologize for slapping me. That explains why my cheeks sting.

I am gaining my senses, slowly. I look at my bed and I feel ashamed. Ashamed that you had to see that. Ashamed, for it was a bad day. Ashamed, because I can’t control it. Overwhelmed, tears well up in my eyes. Unable to face you, I bury my face in my hands.

Things calm down a bit but there’s something, something that’s bothering you. You ignore it and we talk. But that something doesn’t go away, it snowballs. Then you place a finger on it. With great courage and overcoming the fear that you might send me back into that panic state, you ask…

“What was that about ?”

I look you in the eyes. Surprised by your question. For a moment I think how could you even ask that question. I look away and walk to the window to get some fresh air. I stand there wondering, how can I explain the horror, lurking behind those four words. There are no words to express what I had been words to explain What was that about.

I know I have to give you an answer, for you have done the mistake of asking the question. I know it would be cruel to keep the truth from you but I also know that telling you the truth would be crueler. Aren’t there things you wish you would have never known after knowing them? That kind of truth I am talking about.

I try to dodge your question by silence, hoping that you would understand. But your inquisitiveness gets the better of you. You walk up to me, place your hand on my left shoulder and say…“You can trust me.”

Oh! I know I can trust you but I can’t trust the truth, it may ruin you. If only you would understand that. I know someday I’ll have to answer that, but why now?

“Fine. If that’s what you want.”

I shift my focus to the moon, my quantum of solace in such times, and with a heavy heart and a long sigh…Huuuhhhmmmm…I begin…

“Around two years back, I was out celebrating with my friends. It was my birthday. We had gone out to dine at a nice place in suburbs. Of course, we had drinks. Probably, too much. After a point, I don’t even remember what all we drank. I was dead tired when I came home so I went straight to my room and slept.

Next morning, I didn’t woke up. I was alive but I didn’t woke up completely. I could hear, I could feel but I couldn’t move, speak or see. Initially, I thought it was all a dream but then my alarm rang. I wanted to snooze it but to my frightening surprise I couldn’t move my arms. I knew I was awake for I could hear the sound of  the alarm but no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t move.

As the realization sank in, I got frightened. I got afraid. I wanted to scream. I wanted to scream so bad. But nothing came out. Tears flowed down from my eyes, but without emotions they were just salty water.

It was probably the first time in my life, I felt so scared and alone.

Later, my parents came in to check on me but their efforts were in vain. For a moment they must have thought, I was dead. But I was breathing so they were confused and shocked. Oh! I could hear it all…I wanted to tell them what was happening. But I couldn’t. In that moment, I was helpless. As helpless as a person can get.

After the medical checkup, doctors said I might have consumed something that had elongated my Sleep Paralysis. Fortunately, they said it’s curable but it would take time. I took me six months to recover.

There are no words in which I could explain the horror of those six months, all I can say is that it was the living hell. Even that’s too mild. Ever since, I am scared to sleep. What if I don’t wake up?

On most days, I calm myself with a drink or two or a sleeping pill but some days I sleep without them. I sleep knowing that that would occur but I do it anyhow. I do it to keep the hope alive. The hope that one day I would sleep normally. 

They say time machine don’t exist. You can’t go back in time. I say they do. On days, such as this, I travel back to that day and live through the horror all over again. All in the hope to find my way back again.”


There, my dear Silent Observer, is the truth you wanted to know, so desperately. Now that you know, tell me.  What would you do next?


Kafka’s Storms

Few months back, I read a book by a Japanese author, Haruki Murakami. The title of the book was Kafka on The Shore. If you’re an avid reader you might have already noticed the reference to the German author, Franz Kafka, in the title. Did you observe how that played out? A German influencing a Japanese. Ironic, isn’t it? Not really, because between them they never saw the war that changed the world. Franz Kafka died before it began and Haruki Murakami was born after it ended. One never knew that it happened, one only read about it. Do you think it would have played out so nicely had they been present in those six years?

Oh!, dear reader, you have no idea how thankful I am that that didn’t happen. Else I wouldn’t get a chance to come across the following text:

“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.

And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”

Whether you accept it or not, you, me and all the people around us are going through some kind of metaphysical storm. We just don’t see it and, often, they themselves don’t accept it.

Now, I have been through my share of storms, and I might still be going through some but trust me it gets over but the survival is not easy. We spoke about the great war, albeit very briefly, in the beginning, know this, these storms can be much greater in magnitude than the so called great war. Of course, the world glorifies only what it can see, so your war with the storm will never be glorified. It will never be noticed. Hell, you might even be rebuked for the sheer audacity of talking about it.

But I am here to tell you, fear not. You’ll be alone, yes. But as long as you stay committed to the act of breathing you’ll get through (as can be interpreted from the above text). The important thing is you’ll GET THROUGH IT.

What do you do when that storm will kick you so hard, as it will every once in a while, that you think you’ve fallen for good?


and listen to this awesome song by Bob Marley.

Because it gets better. It gets better.

Birth Me, Birth Me Not!

Birth. Bringing a new life into this world. Creates a beautiful imagery in the mind, doesn’t it? Of course, why shouldn’t it. Over the years our scriptures, our literature and our media have glorified this process to such an extent that at just a mention of the term, birth, our mind gets flooded with images of cute little babies. We feel something holy has happened. We celebrate. We rejoice for the new life that has just stepped into this world.

But hold on! Let’s pause for a second, clear our minds of that beautiful imagery and observe.

A child born in 1920s, in Germany. Born to a Jewish family, he inherits the title. Come the great World War II, he’s executed (or rather exterminated) by the Nazis.

A child born in 1920s, in Germany. Born to a non-Jewish family. Come the great World War II, he goes through life just fine, save for troubles caused by the war.

A child born in 2000s, somewhere in India. It’s a girl. Soon after her birth she gets ‘executed’ by her family because she’s a girl.

A child born in 2000s, somewhere in India. It’s a girl. Her family is open minded, loving and caring. She goes on to live a wonderful life.

A child born in 2010s, in Cameroon/Chad/Nigeria.  Few years later, he gets killed by Boko Haram, apparently for no fault of his.

A child born in 2010s, in the USA/UK. Goes through life without the any major hurdles. “Third world problems” are a news item to him, nothing more.

A child born in 2015, to a poverty stricken family. He’s headed for a tough life. He might not even get a chance to experience most of the beautiful things of this planet.

A child born in 2015, to a rich family. His future is most likely secure. Will probably go on a world tour and have a nice time.

What did you observe in the above eight scenarios ? What’s the common factor?

Think on it a bit.

The common factor here is that these children were born and their destiny was tied to their neck at that moment, by Birth. Of course, I have taken a very minute sample from a large population, and there will be exceptions too, but tell me this had you been born in a different time, at a different place, to a different couple would your life, your dreams, your ambitions be same as they are now? Most likely not.

If the outcome of one’s life is dependent so much on various factors related to one’s birth, then why is it taken so lightly? Why such a critical factor is only glorified and not criticized? Why, if taking a life without one’s consent is considered crime, then giving life, where one can’t provide a consent, is so liberalized?

Life is a symbol of hope. But, to some extent, birth does decides it’s nature.

Note to the reader: If you have a views/opinions on this topic. I would love to hear them. You can leave a comment or mail me at mailme [at] udaymittal [dot] com

Anne Frank: Dear Kitty

Annelies Marie Frank. I am jealous of you. Of course, one, who knows your story, would wonder why and what am I jealous of. On the contrary, one might say that it should be the other way round. Little did they know that that’s exactly why I am jealous of you. Because with you, there would be no other way round.

The time in which you lived and the place where you were born, had they been different, the world, and more specifically I, wouldn’t have known Anne Frank. Your sixteen years in this world taught you things that I, having lived a decade longer and still counting,  am still struggling to come to terms with. If anything, the more I read about you the more I realize that life, as we live it, is a mere illusion. For some it’s heaven, for some it’s hell and for some, like you, it’s a heaven in hell.

What is required to make a person happy? Of course, you know the answer but billions and billions of us, the current unhappy occupants of this world, are still having a hard time. How can it be so simple, we wonder. You know they have reality TV shows these days where 12-14 people are locked inside a house, much bigger and luxurious than your hiding, for 90 days. The challenge is same as yours, to survive (in the show). Yet they fall, one at a time. For some reason they can’t rise above their petty ego issues and narcissism. I guess it does take a World War to force the ego and narcissism out of one’s self.

The life of today has everything one could imagine, yet it seems pale in comparison to yours. Partly, because it was handed to us on a silver plate and we never had the misfortune of a war taking it all away. It’s almost comic to observe, how a devastating and destructive thing as war can shift one’s perspective on life to a gentler one. A wise person has rightly said, the value of things taken for granted is only realized when they are taken away or rather snatched away mercilessly, as in your case.

Oh! Anne Frank, what a pleasure it would have been to live with you in those troubling times, to know you beyond the pages of your diary.

A Dance with Death

I close my eyes. I see her.

She’s wearing black. That’s how I’ve always imagined her. It adds a sense of mystery to her aura.

“How much longer?”, I ask.

“A bit more”, she answers.

“I’ve waited long enough”, I reply.

“I know dear……..I know”.

And this is how it goes, every time we meet. I then put my hand forward as an invitation for her to dance with me. She always accepts. I love that about her.

We dance on one of Beethoven’s symphonies. They are her favorite. As we dance, we loose ourselves in each other’s eyes. I see only my reflection in her eyes, which otherwise held the memories of countless souls.

I ask her, “Did you miss me?”.

“No.”, she replies.


..know that I knew
how much you loved me.
When life was sweet
and when life was dark.
When you told me,
and even when you didn’t.
When it was easy
and when it was hard.
I knew.
Every minute of every day.
I knew.”,

she answers.

“Will we ever become one?”, I ask.

“Yes. One day the body will wither away and the soul shall be free. That’s when we’ll be one.”, she answers.

I stop thinking, pull her close to me and embrace her in my arms. I let the silence cover us. We become one, even if only for that moment.

Why does she love a mortal when she herself is eternal?

Bring me your suffering.
The rattle roar of broken bones.

Bring my the riot in your heart.
Angry, wild and raw.

Bring it all.

I am not afraid of the dark.

She replied.


Note: The quotes used are by Mia Hollow

On a Pyre of Books

The following is the last conversation between a father and his son.

He’s old and has been ill, of a critical disease, for sometime. His body has withered with time. He’s now in his final moments. He has called his only son to have the last talk and say a final good-bye.

His son is a young man who has just stepped into the adulthood. He loves his parents, especially his father who was also his best friend. He knows why he’s there so he reluctantly goes inside the room where he had spent his entire childhood….



“Please pardon me, my lungs are giving me a hard time.”

“It’s okay Dad. Let me get you some water..”

“No…No…. Stay. I want to tell you something. I don’t have long and I won’t be at peace if it goes unsaid.”

“What is it Dad?”

“Here! grab that chair….and help me lie down. Its difficult to sit anymore.”


“I want to tell you about my last wish. I haven’t told anyone about it, not even your Mom. I am telling you because I know if someone can fulfill it, its you.”

“Dad! please…don’t say things like this….”

“Its alright son. I know my end is near. I can see it…” ughh…ughhhhh…

“Son…look around and tell me what you see.”

“Ammm…I see your table and chair, the painting on the wall that you made for Mom on your first anniversary, pictures of us on the table, my childhood drawings and two walls covered with cabinets.”

“What’s inside those cabinets?”


“Son…from where you see they appear to be books but to me they’re my closest of friends. Friends with whom I’ve shared some great memories. I want them to be at my side when I am cremated. That’s my last wish.

You’re probably thinking that I’ve gone insane. I haven’t. At least, not yet.  I ask this because its the only way I can be with them even when I am gone.”

“I must confess Dad..that’s the strangest thing anyone has ever asked me to do. But I am curious. If you think that’s how you’ll be able to take them with you, why not consider more valuable things like money or your collection of paintings?”

“Oh! son…money and other valuable things are of value to the living only. Dead have no use for such things. After all, God doesn’t sell a loaf of bread for Rs. 20.”


“Here..have some water, Dad.             Okay. Then by that logic wouldn’t these books be better used by the living? You can donate them to a library or leave them here as your memory to us.”

“I used to think along the similar lines too, son. But one day your mother accidentally broke the earthen pot we used in summers to store water. As she was cleaning it’s remains I wondered what will happen to them. Probably they’ll be grounded back to earth and reused to make new pots. Then it struck me. These books will have the same fate. No matter what I do with them, eventually they’ll be destroyed and their remains will be recycled.”

“Yes, but what about all the people who can benefit from them before they’re destroyed. Honestly Dad, don’t you think they will be more valuable to the living than the dead? I am sorry if that hurt your feelings, I am just playing the devil’s advocate.”

“That’s fine son and I am happy that you are. Because if you don’t believe it yourself how will you convince others.”

“Truth be told son, if someone wants to read any of the books from my collection they can most certainly find a copy somewhere else. Libraries probably have most of them in their catalog. But that’s not why I want to take them with me.

Over the years, I’ve grown intimate to these books. They became my father, imparting me the wisdom of ages and telling me about the truths of life. At times, they became my siblings, my partner in crime. Occasionally, I found myself in their pages. Many a times they took me to a completely strange world, the kind that I couldn’t imagine even in my weirdest of imaginations. I made friends there, lots of them. I fell in love, broke my heart, found my soul-mate, only to be parted at the end. I cried with them, I laughed with them, they made my angry, they cheered me up. But above all, they never let me feel that I am alone even when I was alone.

I don’t know what awaits me at the other end. I don’t know what will become of me. However, with them at my side, I can cross over to their world and reunite with my long lost friends, my love. For when I am ash and they’re ash, everything becomes real.


So son…will you do this for me…will you do your father this last favor?”

“Yes Dad………I will.”