____T.H.E. .P.A.S.S.

____One Last Breath... Maybe Six Feet Ain't So Far Down

Taboo, taboo, taboo. Like sex a few decades back, death is an equally taboo topic. Another topic everyone conveniently avoids. A topic that makes me heart sink like the Titanic. The sinking feeling is bad. It is worse than watching Ronaldo putting the ball past Barthez firmly into the back of the net during the Real Madrid and Man Utd encounter in 02/03 season Champions League. Much worse.

I do not know if it is me. Maybe it has happened to you. The thought of it just freaks me out. Sometimes when I am alone, I think of it. The question "What's next?" really defeats me. Instinct takes over, common sense takes a backseat, and the simple minded caveman thinking within me engulfs all reason. The urge to howl the distant lonely wolf howl is there. The sad, frustrated, moanful howl.

Science is a wonderful thing, but it is not omnipotent. A simple "What's next?" cannot be answered by science. Yet, being intrigued as I am, the search for an answer is on. Futile though. All I learnt from multi-verse is that probably a whole lot of millions of "other" me have died. Getting knock down by a car, falling down from the rappelling tower, falling off my bed, all these could have caused me to "die" in so called the other possible universes.

Yet, I have the occasional feeling that I am all ready for it. Ready to go six feet under, to kick the bucket, to sell salted ducks' eggs. Sometimes, things get so void, nothing seems important anymore. The point is not there. People argue over the smallest details. Quarrel over the most minute things. In a way, all these silly fights boil down to one thing - the will to survive. The fittest and strongest survive? FALSE.
What is the point? It's pointless. Go through all that trouble and hassle just to die. Maybe six feet ain't so far down. Is this what the song means?

What keeps me going? The people around me and football. I do not want the people around me to be sad and I have not played all the football I want. I know the day when my legs refuse to work anymore will be the day it is time to give up. Unless I find new meaning. A meaning to life. A reason to go through all the trouble and pain willingly, happily. If not, it is all pointless.

I sound dangerous, like I need counselling. I don't think so. Like I said, I would not take myself away. It is stupid, but to me, I do not want to face myself and ask myself "What's next".
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I hear myself panting. For the past fifteen minutes or so, I have been running tirelessly yet aimlessly. I do not see the point again. No sign of the ball. Maybe because I am new to Parry Football the old birds refuse to pass the ball to me. Football began to suck. And I begin to wonder, is my last breath coming?

I would not take yes for an answer. If they are not going to pass the ball to me, I will win it myself. And so, adopting a positive attitude, I went, ran, won, played the ball. After a few nice passes, I was more confident in myself. The guys there too begin to be confident with me. I became more at ease with the panting - I was enjoying football again.

I do not know how long this positive attitude will last, or how far football will take me. But I will be waiting. Waiting for the new meaning.

Currently Feeling Like: Beckham (Real Madrid) to walk out of Old Trafford.

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