The Art of Losing

Everything here is so ALIVE. Every time I go for a walk, I see a new creature: ants, butterflies, big snails, red centipedes, frogs, lizards of varying sizes and vindictiveness. I'm always about to step on something that's crawling across my path. And it's not just animals, it's plants, too. There are so many types of trees, and other than the palms, I have no idea what any of them are. The leaves are thick and glossy, and so many vines hang from the tallest ones, I'm tempted to try and swing on them. Even the air feels alive; it's so hot and heavy that smells seem to solidify and hang. There's the flower smell, usually honeysuckle or something like magnolia. Of course all the food smells delicious, like curry or fish sauce, garlic or roasted duck. Then there's the sickly sweet smell of rotten fruit, when they fall from the trees and swell on the ground. I swear there's one corner that smells exactly like jalapeños. Everywhere we go, everything we see, is just teaming with life.

It seems cruel and ironic, then, surrounded by all this life, that death rears its ugly head back home. My friend's father passed away last Wednesday; he had been sick for a long time, but somehow it still always comes as a shock. As hard as it is to be away from everyone, it's that much harder when you can't comfort the people you love. I feel so helpless, unable to reach across and hug someone. It's frustrating to feel so distant; I actually paced around the apartment, which until now I thought was something only done in detective novels. This is the first time since we moved here that I've felt truly isolated. All this time, I expected I would need to be there to help my friends through this grief. It comes as a surprise that, selfishly, I need them to help me through it too. It kills me that I can't be home right now, to give comfort as well as to take it. I can't imagine the pain of losing a father, and I don't know any words to make it better.

Death is such a calamitous event. It's like an earthquake, and the aftershocks send ripples out to touch everyone. Death hits us retroactively. Not only do we feel the loss at hand, it reminds us of all those we lost before. It's a cumulative grief, made up of all the sadness we've known in life. We carry those losses with us, like a shell. With every fresh hurt, the weight becomes heavier, until it seems impossible to go one step further. It shouldn't have to be like this; it seems so unfair that human beings carry such burdens. We're only skin and bones, after all.

And yet, even with all our pains, our knowledge of our own mortality, we are resilient. We have to be, to endure. I am consistently amazed at the capacity human beings have for love. Amidst all this heartache, I see amazing strength and composure. My friends know I love them, just as I know they love me. I can hear it in their voices, even if I can't see their faces. It's a small comfort, but I'll take it.