This weekend has been a bit icky. Hiding out in my room or on the first floor of my residence to get wifi as I eagerly refreshed my Facebook newsfeed, sucking up all the news I could get about home. I remember this happening to me before when MH370 went missing and I was in the middle of classes at Hampshire. I've been thinking a lot about what I've been doing and asking myself why do I do this to myself—feel too much. I don't have anyone I know directly involved in these things and yet I spend hours in front of a computer, reposting almost every news article or picture I see. It's like I'm afraid to feel disconnected when in some ways, I am—something about being away from home that gets me sometimes. As an EMT, I learn about the stages loved ones of the deceased may go through: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. But I would say that these feelings are not exclusive—grief and loss, be it temporary or permanent, are those complex things that all of us experience. It really does feel like a part of you is empty. You watch every single video you can, read every single news articles you can, and find anything that can remotely remind you of home. You use them as your form of solace or way of filling up that empty part of yourself.
I've been thinking about what we say to people who are suffering or affected by tragedy, having been on both ends. We tell people to stay strong immediately after disheartening events, as if being sad is not allowed. Sadness is an emotion that is just as legitimate as happiness. If this is what we are feeling, does it not seem only right to allow ourselves to feel what we truly feel? Sometimes, I feel suffocated by the feeling that I have to put on this face that everything is alright when everything is clearly not. Maybe, we have to start telling each other that it's okay to not be okay sometimes. Maybe strength is more than just suppressing emotion. Maybe true strength is being brave enough to cry, smile, be angry, and laugh because they are all part of being human.
I've also been thinking about what it really means when we say we are sorry for their loss, that it was not time for the person to go. When is the right time exactly to go? At what particular age do we have to be for it to be "okay" to die? I don't have the answers to these questions, nor are they meant to be offensive. I don't know what I would feel when death brushes my shoulders or the ones of my loved ones but what I do know is that it will happen no matter how much we do not want it to happen. The deceased will never be at the "right" age to die because death of a 4-year-old and death of an 84-year-old still hits you in the face with the debilitating power to crush you for what will seem like forever. What I am trying to get at is that there will never be a right time for death or tragedy. But there will always be a time for life before, during, and even after death and tragedy. I acknowledge the tragedy of the dead climbers on Mt. Kinabalu and the flaws of the SAR team. But I also see how much life I have seen in these few days: the mountain guides voluntarily risking their lives to return to Mt. Kinabalu to bring the climbers down, the villagers preparing food for the guides and fundraising for the deceased, the impromptu mural created that have received an immediate vigil in solidarity of the people at Mt. Kinabalu late into the night. Maybe in tragedy, it's time for us to not only acknowledge the death, but also the life in it.
I guess these thoughts have always been with me since confronting the death of my best friend's father at the age of 17. I remember feeling this overwhelming amount of grief at the funeral that my uncontrollable crying surprised my parents, my best friend, and even myself. That's when I started noticing my heightened sensitivity—more than everyone else around me—to loss, grief, and a wide range of emotions of other people. To me, it felt incredibly easy to find a connection to the people and things that were close to my heart, even when I didn't want to and even at times when it wasn't emotionally healthy for me to do so. In truth, I think that has been a big fat reason for my fascination and sometimes, ruthless desire to be an Emergency Medical Technician. I looked up to service providers such as EMTs for their capacity of having the knowledge to be of help and that has been my motivation ever since. Of course, I have grown a lot and some perspectives have changed since the beginning of my first year working as an EMT (stories that I hope to write about in perhaps my next post). And they have all been a big part of my reflections on what I want to do in my life. I know it's a big fat question that I have no definite answer to. But being more aware of this aspect of myself has helped me arrive at several small answers to that question:
I know that in my life, I want to be able to help people.
I know that in my life, the value of seeing people heal, learn, change, and grow have been things I hold very close to my heart.
And as much as I have grown and evolved, I really do believe these essential things have not changed. These few years have just helped me rediscover and find courage in standing up for who I am and where I belong.
So, I'll keep running.
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