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Writer's pictureRajan Chauhan

I Awoke, and He Was Gone

Why can't we humans be eternal, forever bathed in the warm, glowing light of life? Why must we succumb to the inescapable embrace of mortality? Is it too much to ask for a never-ending journey of happiness?


Speaking of joy, I couldn't help but chuckle as I returned to my dorm room last night after an uproarious time with Rhyna and Divine. Laughter flowed freely, and the fun was as boundless as the night itself. So much fun, in fact, it felt like our spirits were dancing to the rhythm of delight.


With my heart brimming with happiness, I rebelled against the late-night academic tasks. Instead, I cradled my laptop, craving something delightful, hilarious, and wholesome to watch, as I found myself alone until Suyash's return today.


The craving was for a light-hearted escape, not a mind-bending thriller or a psychological mystery. In a heartbeat, "FRIENDS" came to mind, and I eagerly logged into my Netflix account. Two hours or so passed like a fleeting dream, each episode unraveling a cascade of memories from the past.


Little did I know that, beneath the shroud of mirth, a shadow loomed. This morning, I awoke around 8-9, or thereabouts, to a headline on my phone that hit me like a sledgehammer: "Matthew Perry" is no more.


I couldn't help but marvel at the irony. Just yesterday, he was here with me on my laptop, full of life and laughter. What in the world had just transpired? Life's mystique reminds us that no guarantees or certainties exist in its tapestry.


Matthew Perry's passing played but a minor role in my life. What grips my heart in a vice of fear is the health of my parents, who reside far from me. A week ago, anxiety coursed through my veins as I learned my father was scheduled for an angiogram to probe his heart's blood vessels for blockages, all while he'd been complaining of chest pains for six months.


As days roll on, the hands of time etch lines of age and vulnerability upon them. Yesterday afternoon, my mother's tearful voice reached me through the phone, her longing for me palpable.


My dilemma unfolds before me like a labyrinth. It was all simpler in my youth, a time when life was an intricately woven tapestry of love and care from my parents. That's why, not too long ago, I shared the poem "No One's Home" - it touched my heart and revived vivid memories of my childhood with my parents.


Optimism courses through my veins, but I must also grapple with the stark realism that one day, I will awaken, and they will be gone, leaving me stranded in a world devoid of their comforting presence. Their time with me is finite, and the demands of higher education beckon me elsewhere.


I fervently wish for that day to never come, but reality remains unyielding. It will arrive, and I must be prepared. My sole prayer is that it stays at bay for as long as possible.


So, I find myself pondering how far we can stretch the limits of human life, striving for immortality. Can we challenge the creator and rewrite the very laws of the universe to grasp eternity?


Contemplate this, dear reader, as I leave you.

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