I like to think of myself as a creator; of writings, poems, angsty teen journals, of illustrations, photographs, doodles and scribbles and art, of mixtapes and alternate versions of my favorite songs, of dreams, and of the purest form of creation itself; thoughts.
I guess what made me thought of this is because the process of creating fulfilled the basic need of humanity (or at least mine); something to remember me by. Something that's not as vulnerable as myself, something that might last a little while after I'm gone.
It's just, when a person died, everything they had ever done in their life suddenly feels much more, dramatic and meaningful, and for that very limited period of time, that person seemed perfect, no amount of his/her imperfection is worse than the fact that the person is gone forever.
Well, turns out it doesn't always occur on every single case of a dying person.
Recently another of my aquintances just died. He's a well known and respected person in my church, he's a small-group-of-faith leader and he was studying at a biblical seminary by the time he was diagnosed of a stage 4 stomach cancer.
Pretty typical isn't it? What's even more depressing is that, when given that kind of situation, he didn't handle it well. I just found out that he'd had so much bitterness throughout his life, and he was the kind of person that never actually finish what he started. He was pretty childish too. There's so much negative things that I've heard of him during the 3 months of his fight against cancer.
When he eventually died though, his memorial service was really crowded. I can't help but wonder if these people were crying because they didn't see the not-so-perfect side of his. And I thought, it's sort of a good thing to distance yourself from people so they don't get to see (or worse, experience) that side of yours.
But I also thought of something else; that he's really just a limited human being with mistakes and horrible experiences and I guess there's something beautiful, something genuine, about it. That we're allowed to make mistakes; we're so limited that it's almost inevitable. Just because he's a messed up person doesn't mean he's not a blessing to anyone. He has his own demons, I guess, but at least he tried to be a better person instead. That's the point. He tried. And the one who gets to decide if he's suceeded or not isn't us.
I just hope all these hatred inside of me won't swallow me alive.