Paul Newman (January 26, 1925 – September 26, 2008)

All I know about Paul Newman is that he was a famous actor, so while I was reading the news and staring at the picture of him holding some trophy or something I experienced a surreal sensation going over me, it was the same sensation I felt while reading Nuria's email.

She said that the other day in the office someone brought up my name all of a sudden, so everyone started to discuss about my life in the army and imagining how I would look like with a butch haircut, then little by little the discussion died down to daily shores, and the subject was forgotten.

Ingmar Bergman (July 14, 1918 – July 30, 2007)

Caught the news earlier tonight while I was having finner. Today was my last day at work, during the whole day I'd been busy tying up loose ends, the final frantic hour after almost a month of ease came somewhat unexpected.

Trying to get through all the procedures of the resignation process left my occupied mind little room to manoeuvre, it wasn't after 1600 when most of the people were gone and me found myself closing the doors for one last time that I was capable of appreciating the fact that it was the last time I was doing it, the thing I used to call, with no little amount of disdain, "routine". I didn't want it to end here, I liked the job despite some of its less than desirable elements. If it wasn't for my blasted thesis, no, if it wasn't for my incapability of studying while working, I would still be seeing my students merrily in less than 2 months...

It's too late for that. The future will not be avoided. One more extra year or not will inevitably meet its end, and you'll see yourself bitching about the bloody routine again and tying up the loose ends in the final frantic hour.

A couple of days ago I accidentally came upon Bob Marley's "No, Woman, Nuh Cry" and it brought me immediately back to Spain, to the smoke, to the strolling quietly in the beautifully illuminated streets under the moon, to her, to them, to memory, to me bitching about my flatmates, to the sky-high dirty plates in the sink, to spending too much time wasting it, to being in a bad mood constantly, to fooling around aimlessly, to finding the end fast approaching, to leaving on a jet plane, to moisturized cheeks, to remembering it fondly afterwards.

To remembering fondly that in the best year of my life I was bitching about nothing of critical importance. Of course, I didn't know during that time that it was going to be the best time of my life. But it was. And now I can only remember it. Would it be better that I stayed in that place and time complaining about things for all the eternity than remembering it, recreating it in my mind, with such fondness in years to come without being able to actually relive it?

Obituaries

It's a morbid habit of mine to read about people's death. And, no, it's not like what you might think, I don't clap my hands or let out a joyous cry nor does it arouse me in the way you might be thinking, of which I'm of course not referring to anything.

Kurt Vonnegut (November 11, 1922 – April 11, 2007) died yesterday and then I found myself spending hours reading about the man and his work. Well, of course I knew who the hell Vonnegut was, but who he actually was only till now do I know. Interesting, isn't it? You have to be dead to catch the attention and interest of certain people who would otherwise never spend a damn second on you.

Why is that? Is it hindsight? Hypocrisy maybe? Probably both. It could also be that you're just too small to notice something that is not in the immediate precinct or of any actual tangible advantages. Just too damn bogged down in your goddamn little world and imagining and fabricating the world of wishful thinking. Once in a while the death of someone pulls you out of this shite and for 5 minutes you're all enlightened and all that, then you slip back to the hole, till the next death takes you out for another ride. So life goes on like that until one day it's you who would be taking someone else for a 5-minute-ride. And it ends there, as far as we know scientifically. Bravo.

22 February 1962 – 4 September 2006

Steve Irwin died yesterday and I just can't believe it. His shows are among the few that I watched on the telly and truely enjoyed. What amazes me beyond comprehension amidst this cloud of sudden sad news is that some started to talk about politics, media manipulation and him being the disgrace to the ozzie populace, which, of course didn't come as a total surprise. Quoting Steve, "Crikey, mate. You’re far safer dealing with crocodiles and western diamondback rattlesnakes than the executives and the producers and all those sharks in the big MGM building."

The wild animals can kill you alright, but we can destroy your whole life's work and turn it into worthless shit with a slight and stylist flick of the fingers.

The Train Ran out of Railroads

An unwelcomed yet expected phonecall came earlier tonight when I was having dinner. It was strange actually knowing that he had no chance at all yet harbouring the miraculous breath, not appreciating the great prospect. Now that breath is extinguished and I feel strange again. It came true.

Just before the call dad was saying that my cousin and others saw the spirit of my uncle when they were burning paper house and stuff for him. If that was true then spirits do exist, where do they go? Yeah, I know it's an age old question as to where do people go when their time's up, still I find myself wondering. As you know, I'm not a man with great religious faith so I can't claim that you'll be reborn or go to heaven or hell. I can't be sure, how can I? I can't affirm something that I don't believe.

Newton (or was it Galileo?) made a model of the solar system and his disciple asked who made it. 'No one', he replied. But of course someone made it and we know who. But, is it the same in the world we live in? Which one is real? Reincarnation or heaven or hell? I don't know, but I do know that when I die I want to see my old friends. And I hope I do see them.

The Seventh Seal

I've feared since more than two weeks ago that the cell would suddenly come back to life and Home would be the word that's on the flashing tiny screen of the screeching and trembling machine. It felt more like a premonition than a perturbation, or perhaps both.

Earlier tonight they rang, he died yeaterday. Later, I called and I was told that it happened much more quickly than expected. She went back to Taipei to take care of something thinking that they still had time. They called her at the first moment when he came to claim him. They said that his pulse was getting thin at an alarming rate, nevertheless he was still there. Then she darted across the door. Then for one last time he came back to life.

Trivial Matter

Last night when I went back from the library I saw this moth in the elevator.

This morning I woke up late, missed 3 classes, and when the door opened I found the moth lying dead on the floor, motionless.

Tonight when I got back from the library, I found that it was being squashed.

Time Is the Past Tense

Lots of people have died recently: in January one of my neighbours, in February my grandma, not long ago Terri and Pope; I went home this weekend and found that the middle aged man who lived next to our place is also gone.

Though I'm not religious, I went to a mass to pay homage to the Pope, not knowing why exactly. As usual, the prist began his sermon. He said that on the day of Pope's death he received a letter from a friend of his, in it he was greatful towards a woman called Emilia who was very frail in health and was pregnant at the age of 35, everyone wanted her to give up the child, but she resisted. 9 years after the child was born she died. And 85 years later the child passed away too.

At that moment I suddenly understood why Pope was so strongly against the abortion, every life is a chance, a gift, man simply has not the power to decide who should live and who should not. If Emilia listened to the people then we wouldn't have the man who changed the world. I found myelf all of a sudden wanting to know more about this man who holds onto something so simple and yet at the same time noble. Something which in this world full of interests seems to have vanished. Life is, as the constant surprises it offers, magical. Short, compared to the whole universe, yet it could mean so much. Often I wondered why and for what. And yet the answer is something so elementary. Moral, tenacity, principle, something that one holds on to and won't let go even though everyone scolds at you, laughs at you, tells you to grow up, to open your eyes, to be realistic because one simply cannot make money with principles.

Of course this is nothing new, it has been talked and discussed, we've all read a lot about it, from everywhere. For some they would sniff at it because it is cliché. I don’t care to create some pioneering topics while the existing problems exist. The basic is the fundamental, without it everyone falls, no matter how flourishing your rhetoric is; how interesting, creative and refreshing your topics are.

Now I understand why so much people love him because my eyes are blurred too and I just began to know him. The recognition came to me that I always realise something belatedly. Now I just hope that it’s still not too late.

Terri Schiavo

No, I'm not going to bring up some heavily discussed issues (one will never accept the idea of another anyway), and if that's what you're looking for, go to CNN.com or google her name.

Her death doesn't matter to me personally, never even heard of her before tonight. It all began when I was on my way to check the Yahoo mail, then the 3 words "Terri Schiavo dies" accompanied with a picture of her when she was still healthy caught my attention immediately. "So what? People die everyday, in Iraq, Africa, everywhere, what's the big deal about this American woman? You noticed her just because she's an Yank? Yeah, so the states is so much more important than the rest of the world huh?!", you questioned grumpily.

Now don't get political. I'm no prone nor against the states, many take sides and don't know for what reason exactly, just because people say so. Get a brain while you still can.

I found out that we were born on the same day (different year of course), what a coincidence. What's more intriguing is that on the main sign at the front of Archbishop Wood High School, from which Terri graduated, in Warminster, Pa, it says 'Terri Schiavo Class of 1981 We Pray That You May Live', I was born that year. Interesting huh? And then something even more interesting suddenly came to me. The reason why I started up this blog was that I didn't want to die one day without warning and nobody's getting informed. I like to have things settled, even if I'm no longer alive. It's impossible to say what I really want if something similar happened to me, but if I were to lose communication skills of all kind and had my life sustained by a machine, I would prefer to be euthanized. What is interesting is that I was just thinking about death and then the obituary of the person who shared my birthday found its way to me and, subsequently, my blog and, finally, to you, who is reading these words.