My cousin died this morning. Her name was Mitha, and she was only 15 years old. She died from a brain tumour. They didn’t even know how she got it.
I wasn’t very close to her, because she lives in Indonesia. But it really tore my heart hearing about it. Yesterday her parents were told that if she made it past today, she would be fine. But sadly, she didn’t. :(
Life is short. It makes me realise how much I complain and whinge about what goes on in my own life. I should feel really lucky. And I should also savour every moment. I thought it was crazy when people got angry about this kind of thing in films.
Goodnight Mister Tom was a movie where a young boy lost his friend in an accident. He was standing in a church screaming, “I hate you God! I hate you!”
It’s not about what he said. It’s about what drew him to say that and what he must have been feeling inside. And now I feel like screaming into a pillow and tearing the hell out of my flowing curtains. It’s not that it’s not fair that Mitha died. It’s because I feel in the fucking pits. Why did she have to go? Why did she, a smart, beautiful and kind girl, have to go?
Now I’m in doubt – did she live her life to the max, like she should have? Was she too weak to move? Did she spend those last moments smiling, or crying? Did she know she was going to go, or was she just hoping, in excruciating pain, that she would make it past today?
I can’t believe she’s gone.
I remember when we were younger, and I went to Indonesia, we were naughty kids, but we loved spending time together. There was a time that just hits home for me. It’s one of the only memories I have of her.
We were in our aunt’s house and found a box of toothpicks. From the top of the stairs we thought it would be funny to throw the toothpicks down into the lounge, like confetti. It might have been pretty dangerous considering they were toothpicks. But we weren’t aiming at anyone.
I hate saying this but I’ve had a bad day. I don’t want to go to work either; the weather looks idiotic. It’s hot as hell and I’ll be trudging home. Walking. Walking.
And then I’ll be thinking that any chance could get me hit by a car. If I stepped a foot wrong. If someone stepped their foot wrong in their car. Like a toothpick. Someone could drive over me and I’d be gone. I could fall, but survive, but something could crush me.
It makes me cry. Humans are fragile and one mistake can leave us lifeless. But it makes me even sadder that Mitha won’t grow up, fall in love, have children, and tell them how she survived a brain tumour.