As life just fleets by, what is my preparation?
I frequently sit and wonder how much luggage is allowed through the gates of my demise when it finally comes, and what exactly do I need to carry as travel allowance for the onward journey. It gives me the creeps and shivers as I consistently come back with an answer that I still do not have enough in my hands. And although I am fortunate to learn that unlike other worldly journeys, this was has no updates or newer versions to the provisions already set out by the Holy Book at inception. Yet, this nagging feeling, day in, day out, much like the interviewee on the night of the appointment, or the student on the eve of results. My mind palpitates between seeking forgiveness and seeking out for His mercy, imploring that I should get more time to do things that are meaningful in religious terms. By morning, I know that there is no extra time, it is this very life, embroidered with its daily challenges, ups and downs, highs and lows, stress and strain, where I have to make good on my purpose, my objective. Naturally, my anxiety also springs from not knowing how much time do I have left, but then again if, for instance, I knew, like a terminally ill patient, would it make it any easier? Alas, this feeling and this craving are what drive me to redemption, though I fail much, perhaps every step of the way. I am enamoured by my peers and role models for their ostentatious achievements in this world, their sense of security and fortitude, just before it forever dawns on me, that in the end nothing really matters except my deeds, whether performed in abundance or depravity. That is the beam that then torches my path with energy to go on out there and to search, to perform and to abide. Time is truly too precious to throw away, if you ask me.