adhockery

I was in San Diego for the past three days. My visit marked the first time I had gone back to San Diego since I moved back to Orange County three weeks earlier. And, overall, it was the most fun I’ve had in …the last three weeks (yeah I know…I’m really boring when I’m in OC).

I had a dream last night—but it wasn’t one of those really pleasant dreams where you wake up and you’re trying really hard to memorize it before it fades away in your mind and it’s not one of those dreams where later in the day you reminisce about it to yourself and you’re trying really hard to hold back the faintest shadow of a smile…No, I dreamt that while I was visiting and staying in San Diego, my mom had passed away. Even though I woke up at around 12:30pm—so I’m really only writing about this some 8 hours later—I still can’t recall some of the finer details of the dream…which is really disappointing because I really wanted so badly to remember this dream so I could explore it and understand it a bit more. I know people say that dream interpretation has no real scientific basis, and that you shouldn’t read into your dreams…but I think it’s interesting, and, if anything, can help give me perspective on certain things I don’t think about when I’m awake (or that I don’t notice when I’m awake).

You know that moment when you wake up from sleep and you’re kinda in that in-between sleeping and being fully awake state? Like you’re only semi-conscious and you’re not exactly fully aware of everything that’s going on around you? And it goes away after a few seconds if you continue to try to wake up? For me, at least, when I’m in that state, it’s a bit hard to tell what’s real and what’s not—in short I can’t tell if my dream has already ended and if I really am awake. My sense of reality is a bit warped. And in that moment, I couldn’t tell if what I dreamt was real or not. 

So I rubbed my eyes, but my mind is still playing over scenes from my dream—in the dream I am sleeping in the same exact position, in the same exact room (on a futon on the floor in Richard’s room, next to the door) as I am in real life…and I stir to the sound of someone opening the door to Richard’s room. The door brushes against the futon I was sleeping on so it wakes me up (in the dream)—and that person goes in to tell me that my mom has passed away. I think that that particular moment from the dream felt so real because in real life, I heard Richard wake up to go to the bathroom and when he opened the door it brushed up against me. I guess my mind kinda just internalized that feeling and incorporated it into my dream.

(In real life) But after I opened my eyes and I become aware of the sunlight shining through the very thin curtains—it was in that moment of semi-consciousness that my confusion as to what’s real and what’s not began to clear and gave way another feeling: a kind of panic. Panic slowly started to set in. If I had to describe the feeling again, I’d had to say it was a…very still and silent—a very absolute kind of panic; a panic that kinda starts in your somewhere else, but eventually ends up in your chest…a panic stemming from the possibility that what transpired in my dream could have been real. At the time, I wasn’t aware that Richard was laying in his bed wide awake and using his phone, but I scrambled to grab my own phone (which was on my left, plugged into the outlet and recharging).

I had to call my mom. I needed to find out if she was safe. If she was still alive.

So I quickly found her in contacts and called her cell number. It rings, but goes straight to voicemail. My breathing really starts to quicken a little at this point.

I decide I’ll call my little brother’s cell phone.

Ring…ring…ring…

No answer. I think my lips or mouth became dry at this point. I was just so fixated on contacting someone—and I was hoping with every fiber in my body that it is just a coincidence that I can’t reach anyone right now. I mean it happens all the time right? People don’t pick up their phones all the time right?

I call my mom again.

Ring…ring…ring..

Nothing.

I call my little brother again.

Nothing. While part of me was telling myself that this is just a series of coincidences and that a couple of missed phone calls aren’t really a basis to extrapolate any sort of conclusion from…I was still waking up, so I don’t think that my ability to maybe rationalize and think through the situation was kicking yet…and, even more importantly, this was concerning my mom. I didn’t care—nor should I have—if I looked or seemed foolish while I was fervently trying to get a hold of someone. 

I call my aunt at my grandma’s house.

Ring…ring…

My aunt picks up. I immediately ask her if my mom is there. She tells me that my mom is still at home and that she’s gonna come over later.

I breathe a small sigh of relief…but I wasn’t really satisfied. 

I decide to call our home phone number (which I usually avoid calling because my dad pays for my cell phone and so he’s able see what numbers I call on his bill and my mom doesn’t want him to know our home phone number—a fact which I remembered only the moment I started calling—but I didn’t stop).

My mom picks up after a few rings.

She asks me why I’m calling our home phone.

All the panic is washed away when I hear her talk.

I told her that she didn’t pick up when I called her cell and that Kenny didn’t pick up his cell either. Then (and I made this up on the spot) I told her that I just wanted to call her to tell her that I was going to be coming home later tonight, probably around 5-7pm. She then asks me if I want her to prepare anything for me for dinner. I said no, that I’d have probably have already eaten with friends. We then say goodbye to each other and, as always, I tell her I love her.

I (really do) breathe a large sigh of relief and fall back into the futon that I was sleeping on. Has it always been this comfortable? I lay there for awhile…before I decide to sit up again to see if Richard’s awake. I see that he’s wide awake and on his phone.

Oh, and I also cried in my sleep that night apparently.

I just watched 50/50 and there’s that scene near the end…where he wanders through the streets, the night before his surgery:

how do you fall asleep, knowing that tomorrow you’re going into a procedure where there’s a very real possibility that you might not wake up?

That scene where the anesthesiologist or nurse or whatever puts anesthesia into his IV and he starts to panic, because he doesn’t know if the anesthesia is strong enough to keep him asleep during surgery…or if its too strong that it might just guarantee that he not even wake up after the surgery.  I guess that’s why anesthesiologists are so important?  I’ve always thought that anesthesiologists were just people who administer anesthesia—and yes, that’s the “no-frills”, non-sugar-coated, heuristic job description…but hey, if they fuck up, they could kill you.  I can only hope that the extensive training that anesthesiologists are put through minimize any possibility of incident.  The panic in that scene was absolutely palpable.

But I digress.

I’m very lucky that so far, in my entire life, the most “dangerous” medical procedure I’ve had to endure was wisdom teeth removal.  I know that there are others who are not so lucky.

Dying, death, the idea of it, its process, what happens afterwards…is something that is constantly on my mind.  I don’t know why…or maybe I do?

I don’t know where my obsession or fear of death comes from, but my earliest memory of every being worried about death was when I was probably around 5 or 6 years old.  I don’t know what had brought it up, but I think I might’ve had a dream or something—but I do remember that I immediately ran out into the living room where my mom was sitting while watching TV and I remember crying into her lap…telling her that I didn’t want her to die.  She reassured me that she wasn’t going anywhere and I don’t exactly remember my reaction to what she said.

During high school I had this time, during winter break I think, where all I thought about was death or dying.  At that time, I wasn’t so much worried about it as much as I was just insanely curious about what happens to you after it.  Do you just go to sleep and wake up?  And when you do, where do you wake up?  In a place above the clouds?  On a higher plane of existence?  What if all life did was to prepare you for this place that laid after, beyond the horizons of death where you existed forever?

You guys know that animal crossing tragedy video?  I remember watching it at home (this was like 2 or 3 years ago) and afterwards I had to immediately run out, hug my mom and tell her that I love her.  I was crying and I could only tell her that I, with all of my heart, didn’t want her to die.

What do you do knowing that you could be dead tomorrow?  Would anyone sleep?  I think sleeping would be one of the last things on my mind…but I don’t want to think about it…but at the same time I want to think about it.  When something is scary, or when I am fearful of something…I find that I just can’t turn myself away from it—not until the source of the fear or unsettlement is eliminated or solved.  For example—and I’ve said this to many people—when I am getting a shot, it hurts, and seeing that impossibly thin cylindrical metal (tube?  I guess, lets go with tube) tube be inserted and penetrating my skin, disappearing as it is slowly pushed in…and knowing that foreign substance is being pushed into my body is unnerving, but I can’t help but LOOK.  What if I were to turn away?  Then I wouldn’t know what is happening to me, and the fear of the unknown is greater than the fear of being disgusted or the fear of pain.  I’ll get back to this fear of the unknown later.

But what do you do, when you’re teeter-tottering on the edge between life and death?  When I think of death, the visual metaphor that I almost, always have—and I honestly don’t know where or how or why or when I developed this, but—is that I’m at the edge of a cliff or an infinite chasm, I’m standing right on the absolute edge of it so that  in order to maintain my balance on the edge, my feet are partially off the edge and my toes are pointed diagonally downwards into the chasm…and one little tilt or nudge or if I shifted my weight a little bit or if I reangle my body a tiny bit…that it would involve me falling right off.  And I look down and I only see black.  I can’t know what lies beyond that deep black crevice.

Death is so puzzling to me, and I can’t help but think that my attitude and fear towards it has a lot to do with my perception and outlook on life.

I don’t believe in fate.

I don’t like nor do I subscribe to the idea that I am not in control of my life.  Everything I do, given my circumstances, is a result of my own actions (and perhaps a bit of random chance/luck).  If I succeed, if I fail—I really take care to never blame someone else except for myself (unless, of course, it’s blatantly obvious that I was sabotaged or assisted in some crucial way or something, but usually that doesn’t happen).  I don’t like the idea that there’s someone out there controlling my life.  But maybe it would be easier to live life if I had believed in fate, which I may, or a deeper level, perceive to be some sort of abstraction of the lack of control we sometimes have over our lives.

I think that fundamentally, my rejection of fate or destiny is where I derive a good portion of my fear of death.  Other people, more mature, pragmatic, thoughtful people…have already accepted the fact that they are going to die.  And I really do think that a lot of these people are, on a behavioral or personal level, much more mature than me.

Death—its inevitability, its uncontrollable nature—the concept of it completely flies in the face of my values of self-determination.  I don’t want to die, but I will, eventually.  And there’s absolutely.  Nothing.  That I can do about it.

But I think death wouldn’t be so bad to me if I could just be (re)assured that there’s something that lies beyond it.  If I could just be guaranteed that I’ll still be able to exist after I die, that I won’t just fade into oblivion.  

I like just living.

I like being.

Does that make sense?  I mean not grammatically (cause I’m sure it probably doesn’t), but just BEING.  Existing.  Being aware of myself and the people and world around me.  I like being aware of my own existence and the existence of others.  Why?  I don’t know.  Living, being, existing is all I’ve ever known.  It’s all I’ve done for the past my whole life.  Perhaps you can question the quality of my existence, whether I’ve lived fully, but you cannot question the act.  I’ve existed for the past 21 years of my life and I can’t imagine not existing.  The thought of dying and then potentially not existing afterwards is what truly frightens me.

Do you see how I said “potentially not existing”?  Reflexively, innately, I cling (or perhaps I have trained myself to cling?) onto the hope and thought that there’s something after death.

But the idea of an afterlife and the lack of proof…there’s this continual push and pull between the logical side of me for the necessity of concrete proof of an afterlife if I am to believe in it…and the spiritual side of me that wants to just accept it.

I don’t know.

Maybe I’m so hung up on dying because I haven’t lived everyday of my life to its absolute fullest.  I haven’t been able to do all the things I want to (although if I phrase it this way, I might never be satisfied with my life, cause I doubt I’ll be able to do all the things that I absolutely want to do).

You know that scene in the movie where Adam’s sitting in the car and he’s talking to Katherine on the phone and he says:

I just want it to be over. I’m so fucking tired of being sick. You know if this surgery doesn’t work, it’s um…that’s it. And I’ve never, you know, I’ve never been to fucking Canada. I’ve never told a girl I loved her. It sounds stupid, doesn’t it?

I’ve never been to fucking Canada nor have I ever told a girl I loved her either.

I don’t know.

50/50 is a great movie though.  Joseph Gordon Levitt’s performance was phenomenal.  And Seth Rogan played his role well too.  He was Seth Rogan without being TOO Seth Rogan, if you can understand what I mean.  I’m very lucky to be able to experience two movies with phenomenal acting back-to-back (A Separation and 50/50) yesterday.

But more importantly, while I was typing all of this, I realized that I had missed the morning review session for my Monday midterm.  Guess I gotta do more work now.  Piece of shit.