the unsent letters

What is Death, Dad?

Death is something you can’t predict they say. Death is something great, and it takes someone greater than Death who can control the Death itself. Well, I can say that this post would be about Death, I just can’t handle what was just happened to me recently. How should a person feel when someone who is important in his or her life being carried away by Death? Is it okay to cry? Crying won’t change a thing, right? But what if crying became the only thing a person can do at the time? What if they feel suffocated by the atmosphere, surrounding by sadness, blue and getting bluer every day? And what if no one understands? What if people never consider other’s feelings?

Dad, we all die anyways. I wrote this because I know one day either it’s you or I will see that rigid body lying on the bed without uttering any single words. You know, Dad, when someday Death took one of us I want you to know that the scariest thing in life for me is seeing you having no power to scold at me. Even before that thing happen, I already cry a river. And yet, no one cares, Dad, no one have the guts to listen the answer of their rhetorical question ‘what happened?’

Remember when I was just 9 years old; Death took yangti to His place. I saw Mom was crying that hard and she was fainted. Remember what I keep doing at the time? Stare. I was staring at people’s face. Why were they feeling so sad? Did they even notice how beautiful yangti’s smile was? Even when Death took her away, she smiles, flawlessly. Why people cry then?

It took me 11 years to answer my own question. I was in my highest peak of trusting someone at the time. Not until he left me without traces. And again, it took me 2 years and a half to bury that traces. I’m wasting my time, no?

You know why I cry, Dad? I cry because it feels like something ripped my body apart. It really hurts until I find no words to explain how painful it is. But why you seem so angry?

I feel dead. I feel Death took everything within my body; I can’t breathe easily, remember that? But no one cares, Dad. Not even you. Not until I bleed myself. Not until I cry every night because of the pain. Not until you realized that I was dying.

I think Death isn’t about the permanent end of something that is alive but the heaviness of your breath knowing that no one cares about how painful you are.

But you have to keep breathing.

In order to keep smiling.

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