“Waiting for my death?”
Being in love finds common identifying characters with the partner, the circle of friends…
Dying seeks to search for common identifying attributes with the living, the existence, how matters metamorphose into ideas, abstract notions…
Why is it that we perceive the living a banal happening? Taken for granted, not related to the realm of the extraordinary, a normal occurrence, the day-to-day struggle to survive, to staying alive and kicking…?
Why as one of our closest friends or relative dies, this event takes on the dimension of a fulgurant instant, an urge to venerate the dead one, to dig deep into the rare moments and ephemeral rare traits…instead of remembering the dominant behaviors that guided the dead in his living…?
Is it our mental shortcoming that values normal behavior as inferior to the rare behaviors at death while relying almost completely on normalcy during the living period?
Is it why we think that mankind value abstract concepts as of nobler level of consciousness compared to the fact of existing and staying alive?
Are we endearing the process of connecting abstract notions to the idea of death, and venerating the dead and “banalizing” the living?
The professionals in igniting civil wars are expert and adept at these mental mechanisms.
I am in serene mood, a mood following a sudden shock, a mood preceding a fast coming calamity, a moment I can sense with all my body and mind…
I hear my heart beats, louder than the bombs exploding around me, louder than babies screaming, louder than mother shouting hysterically: “Stay away of windows. Nobody gets out. The assassins are everywhere, the assassins are surrounding us…”
The same assassins who go door to door, maliciously warning the families that the “other killers” mean to kill every one, including babies…
Everyone is cowed in his shelter, into his shell…The mind is blocked and turning full-speed in closed loops…
Submerged by details that cannot be confirmed or investigated, I am ultimately drawn to a state of indifference” What come will come.
I have no power or means to make a difference, to alter the mechanism of doom
Little by little, the survival giant force in me shake off my lethargy, and the fragile and vulnerable zest for living take stronger roots in me, to remain among the living…
Death is the enemy to keeping at bay: This is not a good timing for death to show up. Death can be relegated at will to a more proper old age…
Is getting out increases the odds of being killed? Or is venturing out of home an opportunity to learn to face fear in the most direct and harsh way? Getting out of home to the street and meeting the masses is a great strategy to vanquish our demons of fear, suspicions, and death
During civil wars, the perception of life and death reverses direction: The living are the rare events to cherish, value and venerate. Death is just a number. After the civil war seems to have ended, a few communities decides to bury the hatchet: All the fallen “citizens” are martyrs. Martyrs for what cause? Mainly from innuendoes that take roots from the deepest recesses of our cultural legacy, centuries of living in ignorance and obscurantism, detached from trading “real stories” with our closest communities.
The Syrian Samar Yazbek wrote in “Cross Fires”: ” I am walking the streets. I look up to locate the sniper and face his eyes. He keeps changing locations on rooftops. Damascus is no longer the same. Fear is no longer attached to respiration. I am coming back home and I intends on linking up with my rights to exercising justice, at the price of my life. It is a matter of habit, no more no less. I am waiting for death, and I am not carrying flowers to my tomb…”
Adonis Diaries 