नागरिक पोष्ट News

Kripa Pokharel , Kathmandu - People say they have time. Time to do things they desire. Time to fulfill their dreams. Time to live their life freely. I am asking you a question, what is time? How do you define it? Everyone must have their own definition on time. If you ask me all I will say is "time is today". It may confuse some, yet some will understand. Time is something you all think you have, something you believe you have control over. Ask a dying person what time is. Or you can ask me what time is.

Time is today, time is now. You may not believe it, and it's okay. It is not necessary for you to believe in everything I do. I want to enjoy life. There is something my time won't give me, my dreams. To grow a long beard, go camping with friends, or have girlfriend, go on a date. I always wanted to feel cold air of Himalayas that touches your soul but can I?

"Son, it's time for your medicine. What are you thinking about?" my mother asked. How can i tell her about my dreams I can't fulfill but want to? She is my mother, who carried me within herself for months, then always loving me, being there for me, understanding me. I don't want to upset her with my thoughts so I will carry my thoughts to grave. Grave, that seems to be waiting for me. Grave, does it sound exciting? I guess it doesn't sound exciting for you. But for me? I can't wait. I always wanted to live, fulfill my dreams but not all dreams are to be fulfilled. Not everyone is supposed to live long, not everyone. Even if we wished, we can't. I know I am dying, I have accepted it my whole art. If it was before, I wouldn't have agreed to death, no matter what. Now I know, I can't escape it or I can win it. Surely, I can fight and with confidence i can live a little more than estimated but then? What will happen then? I will die, eventually.

I take my medicines that doctors prescribed. I can feel my mother's tears on back of my palm. She is not ready for me to leave, not ready for me to die. I know, it hurts you mother but I can't help you. I am a patient, cancer patient, lying on death bed waiting for death and dreaming about life I could have. "It's okay Mother, don't cry please."

"It's not okay, not at all. You are my child and you are young, too young to die like this" She sobs. I am sorry Mother, I really am. But life and death are not merciful; it will take me, sooner or later. I prefer sooner. Life is so beautiful if you know how to live. You can see the beauty of our earth, feel air on your face, and feel harsh cold slapping you on face, beautiful spring when flower blossoms, festivals when you gather with family and feast. You never know which day is your last; never know when it's too late or too early, never known till when you live. I am suffering; I am not strong enough to fight with this pain because i don't want to be strong anymore. I want to give up and get rid of this torturous death coming slowly, day by day. Why can't it take me without making me feel so much of pain? Slowly killing each and every organs of my body, slowly taking energy from me, my happiness from me, my life from me, I am so tired I just want to sleep. But I am scared, even if I am ready for death I am not ready to go. I want to be with my parents, celebrate Christmas, visit zoo, visit Mt. Everest base camp and someday if I would be brave enough I would like to climb it. I don't know if I close my eyes now, I would open it or not. During my last moments, I am scared to die. Minutes ago, i was ready but i am scared now. Is it because I know I am going to die? I just hope my parents would be able to cope with me gone, just gone. Never will I return from where I am going. Unable to form any words, I open my mouth wanting to tell my mother not to cry, I can't. I open my mouth, trying to talk. Minutes earlier I talked, even with pain, even with slurred words I did talk. Right now? I am not able to even form those slurred words.

"Mother, I am sorry but i love you. Even though you and father are divorced I love you both. Don't forget me, ever" I said within my heart, unable to utter a word. Is this how I am going to die? Thinking about things I wanted to do and my mother with me? That's a good way to die, for me. I am barely able to keep my eyes open or understand anything my mother is saying.