i felt a funeral in my brain

yesterday my uncle died and today's his funeral.

it reinforced my belief that life is so fleeting that every minute should be spent embracing every aspect of the human condition.

i've never admitted this before, but a hedonistic life may not be all its cut out to be. neither is perpetual suffering.

the funeral's going to be a Hindu ceremony. he was very religious. and for once, i'm glad he was. gives you a sense of peace. he'll be cremated and his ashes would be spread in the ocean as with the custom.

i do wish my grandmother would be able to accept it. i don't know what to say to her when she cries. how can i be compassionate and eloquent in a language so foreign to me. all i could do is hold her and let her cry in grief for her son. she seems so small and frail these days, so vulnerable you can't stop yourself from crying either.

i think the worst thing that can happen to you is outliving your children. it's a lonely existence, there's this knowledge that death is around the corner... and the waiting for it alone is excruciating.

i've always felt like you come into this world alone, and you leave on your own. where you come from and where you go is irrelevant because you can only be sure here, now and this.

All Things Will Die

by Lord Alfred Tennyson

(1809-1892)

Clearly the blue river chimes in its flowing
Under my eye;
Warmly and broadly the south winds are blowing
Over the sky.
One after another the white clouds are fleeting;
Every heart this May morning in joyance is beating
Full merrily;
Yet all things must die.
The stream will cease to flow;
The wind will cease to blow;
The clouds will cease to fleet;
The heart will cease to beat;
For all things must die.
All things must die.
Spring will come never more.
O, vanity!
Death waits at the door.
See! our friends are all forsaking
The wine and the merrymaking.
We are call’d–we must go.
Laid low, very low,
In the dark we must lie.
The merry glees are still;
The voice of the bird
Shall no more be heard,
Nor the wind on the hill.
O, misery!
Hark! death is calling
While I speak to ye,
The jaw is falling,
The red cheek paling,
The strong limbs failing;
Ice with the warm blood mixing;
The eyeballs fixing.
Nine times goes the passing bell:
Ye merry souls, farewell.
The old earth
Had a birth,
As all men know,
Long ago.
And the old earth must die.
So let the warm winds range,
And the blue wave beat the shore;
For even and morn
Ye will never see
Thro’ eternity.
All things were born.
Ye will come never more,
For all things must die

i feel a funeral in my brain.