When Death becomes real

It's been thirteen years ago since death became real to me. Only 39, my papa died. The very moment I came from school and I heard it from the mouth of a neighbor. "Anong oras daw namatay?"
I still can't describe how I felt back then but I'll try. It's like being splashed with icy cold water all over my body. It's like all the muscles I have forgot the reason they're there. It's like my chest being suddenly, for no apparent reason, crushed by a huge rock. It's like my heart suddenly jumped beats. Beats. Maybe for a full minute or so. Until I feel as if my spirit knowingly and painfully ripping away from my body. And until then, everything I see is black, my memory hazy. I hear only muffled sounds. That's when I found myself bawling. Bawling and cursing and kicking. A time when my body is confused with exhaustion, weakness, and its need for physical release - tension and aggression.

And tonight, death comes knocking on my doors again. Hello, it said. It's been long. A somber, dreadful, slow, deliberate, gloomy mix of emotions suddenly creeps up my spine.

I know for a fact that his coming is inevitable. But tonight and the coming days ahead, I wish for it not to come sooner. And when he does, be like a silent thief in the night.