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Oxygen
Jason Quek
27 Mar 2002
Today is the one-year death anniversary of my grandmother.
Time sure flies. And it seems like it was only a few months ago when I stood by her bedside, wondering if she could tell that I had brought my girlfriend to meet her.
Last night on TV, I watched a documentary on kidney-failure patients. It enacted the problems they faced and detailed the financial burden of dialysis, the contemplations of suicide, and the troubles they have to go through every single day of their lives, for the rest of their lives.
And now, I sit here at my computer, twirling a pen round my fingers, musing about the mortality of us all.
Despite the death of a grandparent the year before when I was in primary school, I remember very clearly my first true notion of death. A classmate knocked on my door to inform me that a Malay friend who lived in the next block had been knocked down and killed in a car accident. He was only 12.
How many people we know now die of old-age instead of falling victim to a chronic illness? Like most others, I am not afraid of death. But I am terrified of a painful dying process.
I am terrified. And I am confused.
Life is beautiful. But why, when it is our time, most of us will leave in suffering, in pain, comatose, robbed of our dignity?
Maybe that's exactly what death is - the opposite of Life.
But still, it doesn't quite make sense.
The weather has been unforgiving. A sweltering sun coupled with high humidities has made life pretty unbearable the past few weeks. And as I look out my window at 5 o'clock in the afternoon, I see the home-bound traffic crawling agonizingly slowly along the roads, wavering in the shimmering golden heatwaves.
The erratic pulse of sunlight bounce off the windscreens and polished metal bodies into my eyes, stinging. But I am unable to look away, mesmerized by the beautiful, dazzling, painful dance.
A phone call. From a woman I love.
I am addicted. Like many who need their cigarettes and alcohol, I have found that I, too, have become addicted to my own drug. And as my day wears on, I am less able to function properly without my daily dose.
The sound of blood pounding in my ears. The tickle of sweat running down my cheeks. The burn of my muscles tirelessly pumping, pumping. The ache of my lungs gasping for more air. The terrific pain in my chest when I finally stop. The uncontrollable shiver when the wind blows and steals the heat.
I am addicted to oxygen.
The sky has turned dark, and it is about to rain.
I'm going jogging.
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