Brain Contour

I thought it would be timely to write about death. A lot of crying has been covered lately on TV and prints for the death of over thirty students at Virginia Tech. In the Philippines, the list of journalists being killed is growing and leaving pictures of families left behind wailing in grief. There was this news about an innocent 2-year old child that was hit by a stray bullet while sleeping in the comfort of his room. Yes, in this column, I will be detailing a chronicle of death. Unless you are not afraid of the word, stop reading.

Few years ago, the surprising death of my young professor in law school made my classmates and I realized our own vulnerabilities. He was just as strong as anyone else the day before he died, laughing and throwing his daily punch lines in class and even joked about health. Little did we know that he’d die the next day. His passing confirmed the verity of how susceptible anyone is to death.

What’s wrong with him? What’s with that slight cacophony in the way he moves nowadays? Every day, he senses a lovey-dovey cadence of delight he only felt in the comfort of a swing in the backyard back home.

He is the composed gentleman. He is acutely aware that he is, at this moment, engaging in a world he never existed in so well. As you are about to read, he is on his way to dipping his toes into the relationship puddle after a significant bout of solitude.

It’s all because of Miss Eve. His heart has been lying dead for the past months. He could describe it as an organ that had lost its joie de vivre, the strength to possess that capacity to love. Yet, here comes Eve, pricks it with her smile and intoxicating giggles and a hip that sways to a rhythm she alone can create, and, without further elucidation, his heart realizes that there is life after death.