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The inevitable end of waiting

.             .             .

I'm gonna live 'til I die

I'm gonna laugh 'stead of cry

I'm gonna take the town and turn it upside down

I'm gonna live, live until I die

They're gonna say "What a guy!"

I'm gonna play for the sky

Ain't gonna miss a thing, I'm gonna have my fling

I'm gonna live, live, live until I die

-             Frank Sinatra’s “I'm Gonna Live Till I Die”-

.             .             .

The past few months, I have been attending wakes, burials and retirement parties. An Uncle passed away recently - the nearest kin to us, after our grandparents who transitioned due to old age many years back.

I see queues and lines every single day. In the place where I work, getting ahead is crucial, so standing in line is order, discipline, the rule of law. We do not want to wait, butting lines are socially frowned at. 

But in the line of DEATH, we do not want to take a step. We want the line to slow down, to stall. We want others to get ahead of us, to cut the line. 

I have been standing in line for almost 50 years now.

In the natural order, the fronts are occupied by my mother and her siblings, me and my sisters are behind them. I cannot see the end of my line yet, not today at least. But I can feel it moving slowly, gradually, inching towards the front --all of us holding our tickets stamped with the dates of expiration.

As every space upfront gets vacant, we take a step forward, farther and farther away from the once vibrant buoyancy of youth and carefreeness.

I look at my children and feel proud of the wise decisions they are making. As faith have it in many Asian sects, I hope to be able to watch over my loved ones even after my demise. We believe we still exist in another evolved dimension, that we do not entirely vanish nor are reduced into nothingness. Death to us as  Christians or Asians is going home to the Source, the final home of bliss and freedom.

It is not death per se that we are afraid of, but the process of death - the pain of physical decay ravaging our bodies, the  emotional torment of being separated from our loved ones, the agony of leaving behind those who are not yet ready without us. 

So I stand in line, waiting to be called.

I hope that I will stay in my spot longer, that I be given more days to enjoy this borrowed time – to feel emotions and feelings at their deepest core, to sense the aliveness of the rivers and the trees, to taste ice creams and sisig and seafoods, to cuddle and cry and laugh, to jump and dance and sing.

But who knows?

The clock ticks, it does not stop, it does not rest.

Names are announced every second.

The line keeps moving forward. 

        (photo by tim-foster @unsplash) 

.             .             .

Gonna dance, gonna fly

I'll take a chance, ridin' high

Before my number's up, I'm gonna fill my cup

I'm gonna live, live, live, live, live until I die

Those blues I lay low

I'll make 'em stay low

They'll never trail over my head

I'll be a devil 'til I'm an angel

But until then, Halelujah!

Gonna dance, gonna fly

I'll take a chance ridin' high

Before my number's up, I'm gonna fill my cup

I'm gonna live, live, live, live, live until I die

.             .             .

So let me live this day like it is my last,  for tomorrow, I may be at the front  with my cue, the green lights blinking and the end awaiting.

Love and light! 

  .             .             .

Thank you for reading my essay. My name is Abigail Ortega. I write warm, poignant essays and short stories. I also paint simple artworks. If you like to read more of my work, you may join our newsletter here: https://afto.myflodesk.com/qj13kigo4b.