I believe that in a lifetime, only one true conversation is capable of destroying the imaginary wall between two people – where words are not being minced by deceitful minds but the utterance of genuineness, fallibility, care, bond, and time that these two people have shared.

My mom passed away a month or so. I can tell that there’s no other sorrow more fragile than losing your mom. I believe this because my mother had painted my world with unconditional love, a make-believe world where I was important, loved, and taken care of. The moment she passed, life would never be the same. The world became mean, unpretentious, and coward. Suddenly, i am left at the center of the stage, braving reality with my fragile bones and soul, and with iphone as my sword. But don’t get me wrong, i am forever grateful with my Mama.

Death is unpleasant so does the malady it left to the spectators. The malady was contagious and serious that it can stripped off any belief you are hanging into. As C.S. Lewis pointed out, “you never know how much you really believe anything until its truth of falsehood becomes a matter of life and death to you”. The very thing that death magnified is life. The spectators are no longer curious about life but looking for meaning and asking questions that had been hidden by their impassive and callous mediocrity.

Anyways, i felt i have gone too deep and far fetched about death. Actually, i am writing to tell a conversation between me and my father. Only the gist, no verbatim recollection. I am not a fan of sharing private moments for the main purpose of maintaining it’s sanctity and reverence, but there are stories that are meant to be shared. As a matter of fact, God is an advocate of writing down his thoughts. My father himself looked for any letter of habilin (last will) as he was so scared to personally ask my Mom about it. Sharing stories plays an important part of human civilization.

The usual catch-up with my Papa turned into something i would not expected. About a month after my Mom died, i guess it’s the right time to ask him about how he was feeling now.  I saw how he shifted his weight, eyes wandered for a bit, and intently thinking about his response. His response was a question to God and accusation of injustice.

My Mom died from a liver cancer. I saw how chemo took her strength and kept her from enjoying life. She was deteriorating rapidly. The amount of medicines she was taking almost everyday for almost eight months was trashing down her hope. Having witnessed her plight, would it be fair for my father to accuse God of injustice? How i commingled fair and injustice in a question is nothing but a biased predisposition of a layman’s intellectual pursuit.

It wasn’t rhetorical, but an honest and humble response to human tragedy. We live and forget that death is imminent. Everyday, we are kidding ourselves that happy endings will come soon and we turn a blind eye to injustice. This is how Disney taught us. This is why we crunch each day in anticipation of something better even though we aren’t sure how it looks like. You might be convinced to say that happiness and meaning of life is relevant – the true tragedy. Truth is not relevant, death is not relevant. Death brings justice.

I believe, there will come a time that each of us will accuse God of injustice, only a matter of when. If that time comes, be excited as you are in the right path, and be prepared as the conversation with God intertwines.