Numbered Days...

At this time last year, I was told to die by a voice in a not-so fictional dream. I was alone in a room. My body was dead tired to move but my mind was wide awake. I have encountered a number of weirdness in my slumber state. But this, by far, was the most crucial of everything ambiguous. It reminded me of the same moment when angel Gabriel visited Mary to tell her about the good news being picked as the Chosen One for Jesus. Only, I was no Mary. And I was obviously not chosen to bring life. Instead, I was told that mine would be taken away before my 27th year.

I was chosen to die.

If this is true, how could I have been so lucky to be dutifully warned by the angel of death? Mind you, I was all the way in San Francisco, trying to have a grand old time with my vacation. Yet, among all the living beings turning 27 by next year, I above all people, was handfully picked to be cut short of my earthly time.

What in God's world did I do?

Let me think...hmmmm. Nothing morally risque. I try, like most people, to be noble in character. Try. Though I don't doubt there've been plenty of days I've fallen short in nobility. But don't we all? So if this is a test of failing through life with goodness in conscience, am I truly next in line to leave???

It is not actually death that I feared at that moment of my awakening. I have gone through numerous life shattering accidents that has brought me to a much deeper state of consciousness. Yet, amidst all the 911 calls, and the paramedics, and the quick ride to the ER room...I, afterall the bombarding threats, am still breathing. I guess, there's still another bone to break, another cheek to scar, another heart to falter and pump for the wrong reasons.

Another chance to make mistakes.

My dear friends have commented on the "new" Bads that's come home to them recently. Have I really changed that much since I left? Is the change good? Are the remnants of my better past still evident somehow? I have tried to intertwine the lessons of my story hoping to find a "better" me. A better me for somebody. Anybody. It is the pact I made during a troubled me. "Make me whole. Please. Heal me."

No I have not forgotten my deal with the Almigthy. I used to think it was a stupid thing to bargain for---a better life in exchange for quality choices. But, as I look at the sight of the homeless and the needy, I realized I never needed to make such bargain. I already have a better life. Now I am commanded to make greater choices. When people ask me why I'm never impressed with the size of someone's house, I fall silent. For I have been to a place where a family of 8 have to cramp together in a 5 sqr. meter dump. Or when I hear talks about food and how much time people devote to make impressive feasts, I quiver. For I've seen children forced to eat spoiled food just to survive till the next day. And yes, this vacation time of mine, though restful, has brought me some guilty pleasures. For I have succeeded in perfecting Bel Far Niente (The Art of Doing Nothing). If I die, it is the most shameful moment to do so, for I am at my most ignorant state of mind. I know nothing of what's going on in the world. I have not read a single paper or watched any news since I got here.

I am an empty soul.

And I am still not 27.

My curse is still lives.