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3
The Smell Followed in The Space of Close Months
<p>I just remembered staring at my grandaunt who was four days into coma on her deathbed...I felt sad, light, analytical/detached, welped and slow. The emotional atmosphere was cold and stung with the phobia of perceived mortality; it felt like a chilling injection, numbing every sense of vitality. </p><p>My brother and I looked at each other and shook our heads slowly in a way that said: "this is not our first".</p><p>And a day later, she died...I felt more detached. I am not feeling you; in the sense that any other person that told me about the death of a loved one during those sequential months of fresh grief (grieving my dad, and now my grandaunt)—it was either I insensitively responded with a dark humour, went cynical or became truly empathetic. Our response was always one of those, especially for me. </p><p>And it hit me when I strolled back to our last text message where she sent me some money during the time when my dad died late last year; <em>I just started crying (a brief sob full of agony; the type that stays leached to the stem of one's throat).</em></p><p>Believe me, I detested "happiness" as a noun, I wanted it to be a pronoun (I hated the fact that I was sad and other people I didn't even know had smiles on their faces). It is not exactly jealousy but it is something close to it.</p><p><em>What you call "I, you, me, him, his, she, hers, yours" no longer exists.</em></p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p><p><br/></p>
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7
Referral Earning
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