stuff.

Funerals sure have a really funny way of accentuating the best and worst things about life. I flew home this past weekend for my grandfather’s service and when I arrived at my grandma’s apartment that night, I was greeted by all but one member of my paternal extended family. This is no small feat. My dad is one of six children, all of whom are married and have at least one kid. In all, it was a total of 25 people in the tiny living room, lounging in chairs salvaged from my grandparents old house (bits and pieces leftover from the late 60s that have still, to the chagrin of most of the family, managed to survive) or perched upon temporary folding chairs. It was a pretty overwhelming sight, especially after having travelled for most of the afternoon, but I couldn’t help but smile to see all of these people together for once.

The hardest part about the weekend was seeing my dad so upset. My dad is the kind of person who can fix everything. He cracks my back if it hurts. He knows exactly how to fix my computer when it freezes. But this time he needed the fixing, and there was nothing that I could say or do to make anything any better.

These past few days have been strange for me. I guess this has been my first real experience with death, as a mature person, and it’s been pretty hard to accept that one day someone can be functioning absolutely normally and then the next day they’re just gone. It makes me nervous and thankful and sad and confused all at once. I don’t believe in any kind of afterlife. I don’t believe that there is anything more to life than the blood running through my veins, the synapses firing in my brain, the accurate transcription of the genes inside my cells, etc. It’s terrifying to think that the balance of life and death lies in these microscopic mechanisms, that one wrong turn can ruin it all, and that there’s no second chance. I guess that this weekend really just made this concept into a reality. You can talk all you want about life, but I guess it’s really best defined by what it’s not.

I guess I’m just rambling here, but I needed a place to sort out my thoughts. I’ve been thinking a lot about life and how, as cliche as it may be, it’s so important to live every day to the fullest, though maybe not like it’s your last. When I got back to campus on Sunday, I had to hole up in my room and do some power-studying for an orgo test that I had on Monday. In an utterly depressing moment, I realized that if I died the next day I would have spent the last day of my life waiting in an airport, talking to a cab driver named Daryl, eating a microwavable dinner, and memorizing the structures of various ethers. I don’t want to live with that kind of mindset, though. You can’t really measure a whole life in a single day, anyway, can you? So between the great days, the bad days, and the so-so days, I guess just want to be sure that after I’m finished with the next 80 or so years of my life, there’s still, somewhere, something good to show for it all.

EDIT: In the spirit of celebrating life, I think I’ll steal an idea from Kateryn. I’m going to try to start a daily post of good things. Starting now!

THINGS WORTH SMILING ABOUT: Snow this morning. Bio test went well. Talked to my Grandma on the phone. Dinner with my friends Jimmy and Chan. Successfully painted my nails with a French manicure.

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