We staggered along the pavements, my friend Sachi and I, braving through the ferocious wind that did not believe that our hairs were actually real and not wigs, and tried to see if it could blow them off and prove the world wrong.
The coffee in Sachi's hand -which she had gotten from the free vending machine in the bank- had been blasted out of its cup; my Earl Grey remained within the paper walls, but was also on the verge of danger. Both of us paused, laughing at the absurdity of the situation. There was a bus stop ahead, and we sought shelter.
I remember being inside the classroom this very morning. Our teacher, Michele, sat in front of the class speaking of the wind and the atrocious weather; while outside, the wind demonstrated its terror, the trees suffering the most. Sometimes I stared out, half-marvelled, imagining all the descriptions that I could use to create a magnificent piece.
By some odd reason, or perhaps, not thinking of the reason not to, Sachi and I headed off in the opposite direction of where we lived. It was after class and she needed to go to the bank and I to the post office.
The walk there was okay. It was only while we were there that the wind started again. I looked down on the blue carpet of the bank where all the fallen leaves had been forced in to live when the automatic doors welcomed customers. They -the leaves, didn't even look like they belonged and I wondered for a moment who I pitied more -them or the person who would've to sweep them away. But maybe then they'll be able to return home to nature.
It started to rain along our way back, the drops heavier than the usual. I pulled up the hood that I had attached to my jacket and Sachi got out her umbrella -which looked like it had impersonated a ladybird. It had, however, slipped her mind that this was no gentle wind that cooled you on a hot day. It blew her umbrella inside out, just a second right after I warned her. She heeded my advice and stowed it back, and the sun came out. If there was one thing that didn't make sense here, it would be the weather.
Now I'm in my room working on a presentation. I paused to think, and stared out of the window, a small opening in this box of bricks which is my room. Ominous clouds, dark grey against the midnight blue sky, travelled across the sky at a speed unimaginable. I formed a mental image of me being up there, before I realised how cold it would actually be.
The second time I looked, I was reminded of the end of the world. For a second there, there was a slight feeling in me which could only be fear, and I wondered. I did not really believe that the world would end like that -it seemed almost too simple, for it to just entirely wipe out.
I think what people are really afraid of is back to the same thing -death. The thing everyone will go through, and the thing many of power have tried to conquer.
I think people fear death because they see it as becoming un-being. To not exist, like how terrifying it is.
But we could not not be, because we never really were nothing before. If you can understand, we are part of the universe, always have been and always will be.
What is actually important is actually having lived a full life, striving for our highest potential (and beyond, if possible), living our dreams. Having mattered. The real things that words don't mean a thing until you do and feel it.
I hope that you'll all make the best of it and so that if you find that you were to die the nest minute, although you should feel like you still have more plans for the days after, you would not also be too worried that you didn't live. I hope that you'll have memories worth flipping through right there at that moment. I hope that you'd been nice to people, the ones around you and the ones who love and care for you.
Like I always believe, I really don't mind dying young as long as I've lived. Lived, not survived. That'd be better than living without purpose forever.
If you ask me, this is much more terrifying:
"When people don't express themselves, they die one piece at a time. You'd be shocked at how many adults are really dead on the inside, walking through their days with no idea who they are, just waiting for a heart attack or cancer or something else to finish the job."
To finish this off in a lighter note, here are a few things I found on the day that was supposed to be the apocalypse. Laugh with me, wouldn't you? ;)
ps. There was actually no thunder, but the day was loud and inspiring for a nice short piece like this -which is also the reason why I'm always sleeping late these days. :/