Tuesday, May 27, 2014

HOW I WISH

HOW I WISH

The sun sets everyday, and everyday someone leaves this earth.

Sometimes we physically leave, and sometimes we just forget where we are, or worse: who we are.

Somewhere on this earth a child will pass into the hereafter and somewhere else an old person will live out his/her life. One will be met with unbearable and unacceptable tragic acceptance and one: we defer to old age and accept it.

Life in itself is not easy, sometimes we fall and need help to stand once again, and sometimes help, no matter how powerful can ever really raise us.

I visited my mom on her deathbed and showed her pictures of her newly born great granddaughter, and she was happy, asking me questions and smiling. Today she doesn’t remember my visit and wonders when I will come. Soon she will not remember me. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W4ga_M5Zdn4&feature=kp

The sun will raise everyday, and everyday someone is born, it is the rules of nature, and the things we expect. Life is not for those who mourn but those who are bourn to embrace all that is and all that can be. As William Shakespeare once said:

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.

At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.

Then, the whining school-boy with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like a snail
Unwillingly to school.

And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow.

Then, a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth.

And then, the justice,
In fair round belly, with a good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws, and modern instances,
And so he plays his part.

The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound.

Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

How I wish that all of us could leave this world in dignity, without pain and perhaps with only happy memories, and knowing that that last thing we feel is love, it is the peaceful way to pass into the beyond.




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