You would expect something dramatic, a plague the Thomas Manns of the world couldn't possibly have ever conceived, but the truth is much simpler.
A colleague of my wife, somebody I barely even knew, died four days ago of a brain tumor. This was not necessarily unexpected, either. She'd had cancer before, I'm told. And yet this is like a dark cloud following me the whole day, a cloud that was created to piss on/off yours truly, and I am surprised to discover that it has. Like a bullet through a breech on its way to your cranium (a sickening pun, given the circumstances), it also forcefully rams home the thought that you are mortal, that you always will be, regardless of how high or low the rollercoaster has decided to tumble for the day. Even more shockingly, I realize that we were born in the same country in the same month.
This is not intended to be a blog about death, God no. It just happens to be the leitmotif today, one I can't shake after said person's death. I also happen to be travelling to Iraq on Sunday, so I guess this is not as far-fetched as it seems. I have postponed the plans for this trip for a long time, citing the recent birth of my son as part evidence, part excuse. Now that my son has been born, my first born, and is healthy, I guess we can let the Iraqis have their shot at me. Fact is I am not as scared as this might read. If I am to go splat over there, so be it. If so, this will be the shortest blog ever.
I am not always this melodramatic prior to such events. In fact, this trip is for a couple of weeks. I remember when I was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Morocco. There is this place called Ouarzazate (short Oz), beyond the High Atlas Mountains. People in the entertainment industry know this place very well. In fact, many a movie has been shot there, whether we're talking westerns, or any other movies requiring desert landscapes, low costs, and little interference from the indigenous population. Anyway, my girlfriend (now my wife) used to be part of a group house in Oz, and I would visit it now and then. The problem was that you would have to take a rickety old bus across the Tishka pass, a winding, breath-taking (and often dinner-taking after you threw up your dinner) route across the mountains. For many hours your head would be thrown from side to side owing to the hundreds of curves the bus driver was attempting to navigate. Whenever a stretch of road was long enough, you would dare to take a look, usually down... quite a sight, that two thousand meter drop with no railing to prevent that bus from becoming a deadly barbecue grill for dozens of natives and tourists alike.
Sometimes you'd catch yourself thinking what a beautiful place this is. I was only praying that the busdriver was NOT admiring the site and keeping his eyes on the road. Before trips like these, I would tell my host brother in Beni Mellal sick things like, "Don't forget if I die, and this bus crashes, the head must be fed-exed to my mother." I am telling you, you don't know what tolerance is until you've been with Muslims. Of course, the guy driving the bus knew fully well what he was doing, I would arrive In Oz alive but shaken and live to tell about it.
These busrides didn't end well for everybody, though. Not far from my site in Beni Mellal (about 3 hours east of Marrakesh) there was a bus that toppled end over end into a canyon, probably seven hundred meters below. Needless to say, the entire busload bought the farm. A very ordinary slice of life episode, except that an ambulance that sped over there hours later to check on survivors took the same wrong turn and ended up landing on top of the bus in that canyon. It would have been pretty damn funny if it hadn't been so tragic.
So now I am counting my days until I can board this huge military plane (breakdowns are at about 50%) and head to Iraq myself. This is probably the one chance I will ever get to go over there, and so why not use it? People far dumber (and far smarter) have made that flight over there and survived, so I reckon I will as well.
Very unusual to launch the birth of this blog with the word 'death' in it. What will be at the end of it? The birth of another child? Can't wait to find out.
A colleague of my wife, somebody I barely even knew, died four days ago of a brain tumor. This was not necessarily unexpected, either. She'd had cancer before, I'm told. And yet this is like a dark cloud following me the whole day, a cloud that was created to piss on/off yours truly, and I am surprised to discover that it has. Like a bullet through a breech on its way to your cranium (a sickening pun, given the circumstances), it also forcefully rams home the thought that you are mortal, that you always will be, regardless of how high or low the rollercoaster has decided to tumble for the day. Even more shockingly, I realize that we were born in the same country in the same month.
This is not intended to be a blog about death, God no. It just happens to be the leitmotif today, one I can't shake after said person's death. I also happen to be travelling to Iraq on Sunday, so I guess this is not as far-fetched as it seems. I have postponed the plans for this trip for a long time, citing the recent birth of my son as part evidence, part excuse. Now that my son has been born, my first born, and is healthy, I guess we can let the Iraqis have their shot at me. Fact is I am not as scared as this might read. If I am to go splat over there, so be it. If so, this will be the shortest blog ever.
I am not always this melodramatic prior to such events. In fact, this trip is for a couple of weeks. I remember when I was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Morocco. There is this place called Ouarzazate (short Oz), beyond the High Atlas Mountains. People in the entertainment industry know this place very well. In fact, many a movie has been shot there, whether we're talking westerns, or any other movies requiring desert landscapes, low costs, and little interference from the indigenous population. Anyway, my girlfriend (now my wife) used to be part of a group house in Oz, and I would visit it now and then. The problem was that you would have to take a rickety old bus across the Tishka pass, a winding, breath-taking (and often dinner-taking after you threw up your dinner) route across the mountains. For many hours your head would be thrown from side to side owing to the hundreds of curves the bus driver was attempting to navigate. Whenever a stretch of road was long enough, you would dare to take a look, usually down... quite a sight, that two thousand meter drop with no railing to prevent that bus from becoming a deadly barbecue grill for dozens of natives and tourists alike.
Sometimes you'd catch yourself thinking what a beautiful place this is. I was only praying that the busdriver was NOT admiring the site and keeping his eyes on the road. Before trips like these, I would tell my host brother in Beni Mellal sick things like, "Don't forget if I die, and this bus crashes, the head must be fed-exed to my mother." I am telling you, you don't know what tolerance is until you've been with Muslims. Of course, the guy driving the bus knew fully well what he was doing, I would arrive In Oz alive but shaken and live to tell about it.
These busrides didn't end well for everybody, though. Not far from my site in Beni Mellal (about 3 hours east of Marrakesh) there was a bus that toppled end over end into a canyon, probably seven hundred meters below. Needless to say, the entire busload bought the farm. A very ordinary slice of life episode, except that an ambulance that sped over there hours later to check on survivors took the same wrong turn and ended up landing on top of the bus in that canyon. It would have been pretty damn funny if it hadn't been so tragic.
So now I am counting my days until I can board this huge military plane (breakdowns are at about 50%) and head to Iraq myself. This is probably the one chance I will ever get to go over there, and so why not use it? People far dumber (and far smarter) have made that flight over there and survived, so I reckon I will as well.
Very unusual to launch the birth of this blog with the word 'death' in it. What will be at the end of it? The birth of another child? Can't wait to find out.
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