Dear Maera,
Nothing much is happening. These are the last days of 2015. I’m spending holiday at home, drawing for people and their money, watching the others’ perfect lives through my cell phone, tidying things up and letting some memories go. It’s been a while, and I think I miss writing to you. Sometimes I think writing to you is a way to talk and the only way to talk only what I want to talk instead of what people want to read or what search engine wants to find.
I’ve been hearing some news of people passing away lately. My friend’s father, my father’s friend, and other strangers. None had ever been close to me but it got me thinking about that milliseconds of dying, Mae. My milliseconds of dying. Would it be sharp? Would it take time long? Would there be pain? What would I be thinking? Could it be fear? Could it be the miles I’d never drive?
Manuscripts I’d never published?
Anger I’d never let go
Crushes I’d never admit
Diving certification I’d never complete
Wedding I’d never attend
Morning coffee I’d leave cold
Hagia Sophia
The night train to Xi’an
The view of red houses from a hill at Trondheim
My grandma Emma
Could it be my father?
Could it be your father?
PS: Please play the whole album of Carrie & Lowell by Sufjan Stevens if you ever attend my funeral in the future. Wear white and bring yellow flowers.
BW 