emperorduckling-thoughts

[emperorduckling-thoughts]

Detail: Falling Star, 1884, by Witold Pruszkowski.

[emperorduckling-thoughts]

Detail: Vessels before Vesuvius at night, by Ercole Gigante (Italian, 1815-1860).

[emperorduckling-thoughts]

4Thoughts and stuff

The day after my father's funeral i started going to school again. It was a regular monday, my aunt prepped for work and my grandmother prepared our lunches. We were all operating the way that we do on weekdays. My grandmother asked about the extra classes i'll be taking to make up for my absences, i answered but she barely looked. The bags under her eyes hinted that she visibly didn't get any sleep that night. Grief engulfed that small hotel room but we had roles to accomplish. My heart sank to my shoes, i wanted to quit school and tip over anything i can get my hands on; to cry and submit to the melancholy that my father will never get to see me graduate college or take the controller when i can't pass a level in biohazard. I wanted to blame the universe for taking him away from me.

But i picked up my bag, kissed my grandma on the cheek and left for school. It's funny in acute moments of trauma everything keeps moving oblivious to our pain. It felt like the world owed me some time to just stop, grief and understood the significance of that moment. I am very aware now and it has became a familiar sight. That if i see a pained expression on a strangers face just going through with life.

I imagined they're wondering why the world hasn't stopped spinning too.