When Breath Becomes Air

When last breath becomes air approaches,
The priorities of things are declared
And beauties of simple surroundings
Are too intense to bare.

When last breath becomes air’s diagnosed,
Why meaning of life could be chosen
And pursued what is needed most
When bodies are going to loss?

The day that last breath becomes air
Is common we all people share.
Why to wait cancer or disease
Signifies urgency of to care.

If the last breath is tomorrow
Should it be in the life we borrow?
Does it feel shallow or hollow?
Is moment overwhelmed by sorrow?

The second of last air is unknown
Don’t keep love within and alone.
Answer of existence, don’t postpone.
Before life has left only bones.

***-*****

# Dedicate for the meaningful piece of art about life of Paul Kalanithi, his memoir “When Breath Becomes Air”. I finished it last night, cried my eyes out. I moaned for the world’s losses about his understanding of life and death, his neurosurgical skill and his compassion towards patients. Imagine how many people he could save if he was alive.

I cannot write a line summary here as  death does not have a pinpoint but it absolutely is a process to feel and understand. However, one thing I can tell from this reading is there is no books can draw the asymtote to the answer for life existence better than a story of a good one who had to be gone away.

Living Life Like Reading

I want to live my life like my reading.

When I choose a story to read, I am never overthinking. Sometimes, I just walk through the shelf, pick the one that catch my eyes, and glance over the back cover. Oftentimes, I heard about how good one is. I probably do a small research such as searching to see comments. If I am so unsure, I probably read a few lines at the beginning. I do not really worry what I will get from it or how can it help me in the future. If it is tempting, tempting for what I cannot really define, I jump into.

Once I start, I do not think about a return. I do not consider what can I do with this amount of time. I pour my heart into it and just enjoy. Time pass, I engage. It is absolutely brilliant feeling in the world. I forget everything. It has only one me, in the reading universe. I see the blue sky, breath the crisp air, feel the wind blow through my hair. I read, read, read, try to absorb every single detail, every joy and pain. I do not avoid, I do not take a shortcut, I choose to bang myself to whatever it offers. It is hardly to stop reading but I start developing new concept recently. If my condition falters the pleasure in reading, I take a rest. What is the point to lose the chance to feel something from the story? I just realize how possessive I am even with, particularly with, the feelings. By the way, once, I had a reading concept that if I am dying tomorrow, at least I finish another good story. I cannot tell what is a correct mind, probably none, but now I believe in my new way one.

Fortunately, I always encounter with palatable one. Then, I think I have never unfinished the book I already start reading. There is a series with 13 books that I dislike, I have finished them all. I think because I prefer the suffocation of going through it to the unaccomplished feeling in my mind. The point is wavering, especially wavering to the better choice in the imagination, is wasteful for both time and happiness. The worst of all choices in dream is the better option one unsure one really want.

The ending does matter but I can say the decision to read does not really depend at the conclusion. If the story is excel, but only the ending is not the moment of triumph, I do not think I should abandon it. To be honest, mostly, the middle way is a true bliss of the story. The midway that is unknown and unpredictable . I am thrilling to know what happens next, just to have to calm myself every time that deliberately take it in will be more fulfill at the end.

In short, when I want to read, I choose what I think we will have a good time together, dive into it, enjoy the choice I made and forget the option I did not take.

But I am completely doing different to my life.

Why it is so hard to presently live in the choice I have made? Why I am always thinking to the alternatives I did not make? Why I cannot let myself happy right here, right now? In fact, my current research topic is very compatible to me and I want to know more. Taking step by step surely ends well but I just cannot concentrate and feel discouraged. It seems like I choose the biggest book in the world. Then, I think I cannot finish it, so I choose to not read it anymore. I live my life as skimming through the content. I should know better that halfhearted reading gain nothing but still, I am doing it. It is the stupidest act, I know.

Thanks for the good story I just finished as it helps me realize how I want to do with life.

Since I know now. Do I think I can do it?

Do I think I will do it?

My world spins around reading and writing

I tried to write a poem that stuck in my head for a few days about why we should travelling now. As I had very interesting discussion with my mom about everything, places and our mind, changes. Then, the earlier we can see, the earlier we can learn. Our perspectives can be broaden sooner and everything seems more fascinating when we were young too, right?

Today, I planned to sleep at midnight. But the story I am reading is too far good. I know since the first chapter that I am absolutely in trouble with sleeping time again tonight. After 4 chapters, I forced myself to go to bed but allowed about 10 minutes to do this blogging. Reading is so captivating. It makes me feel good, feel right, feel living in the alternate universe but feel neither wrong nor lonely. It drives my ability to write. Look, I can describe so long about the concept of poem I thought and could not finish two days ago plus today’s reading story.

I take poetry workshop right now. It’s so fun! I also think that poet is one of very few jobs that the madder one is, the better piece of work one can create. This is so tempting (to be allowed to be mad at work lol) but not only my skill is so poor, the poet seems always to have very tragic life which I don’t want that. Thank you.

So, good night for now. I have to wait until tomorrow night to have time to read. But that is okay. I’m glad I finally step back into reading/writing before bed routine again. I want to note here that if one day it is so sad and desparate, just go reading. It can definitely wrap my broken soul with warmth and kindness.