<A Book I Want to Read > Chapter -3 — Fear.
I’m scared.
Though I stay calm.
Try to calm,
The people around me.
I’m angry,
at those,
with privileges,
Who become assholes.
Though honestly,
Where I am,
Also makes me,
the privileged.
I’m in a secure place.
With comfort,
plenty of food,
and resources.
I can imagine,
the desperation,
people feel,
Without it.
I feel powerless.
I drown myself,
in entertainment.
Try to not,
read the news,
Or what people share,
on social media.
I can’t do anything,
to change it.
I want to say something,
And post it.
Express my emotions.
So they know,
I feel the same,
them feel.
But what good,
does it do?
Just be one,
of many.
So I tell stories,
And jokes.
To make them laugh,
And distract them.
It got washed away,
by another cycle,
Of news,
And emotions,
That everyone is sharing,
and talking about.
Few days ago,
I got a cold,
So did my mom.
She’s not panicking,
Neither was I.
My nose is running.
Maybe it’s the allergies.
maybe…
My worst estimate,
Is to have it,
And get over it.
I feel confident,
in my immune system,
And my body,
To over come this.
Even though,
it might hurt,
Like hell.
I don’t fear death.
Anything can killed me.
Anything,
Anywhere.
If it’s meant to be.
Then I know,
It’s my time.
To be zero.
To be somewhere else.
Another dimension.
Maybe I will come back,
To be one again.
To reborn.
Into another life.
Another journey.
Another cycle.
Could be better~
Or worse.
I felt pretty lucky,
this time around.
Maybe it’s my turn,
to suffer a little,
Or a lot.
The next time.
If it’s,
100 days left.
Or 10 days.
Or 1 day.
I want to stay,
with the people,
I love.
But what if,
I have it…
I should stay away.
I can’t protect them,
If I’m sick.
At least protect them,
From me.
I should go to the hospital.
Laying on a hospital bed.
That’s where,
I should be,
To make people,
feel safe.
But that’s privilege,
To have a bed,
To sleep in,
When you are sick.
Limited resources.
That I shouldn’t waste.
I better be sure,
Before I go.
My chest hurts.
Or maybe I’m nervous.
I can’t breathe,
But I could be panicking.
I want to test!
To be sure.
But there are risks,
Walking into a hospital.
If you start calculating,
Your chances of survival,
Then maximizing it,
Seems most logical.
But what you do,
If what you do,
Take the chances,
From other people?
Maybe you don’t care,
About other people.
What about,
the people you love?
Would you give,
your last mask,
To,
Your kids?
Your parents?
Your partner?
Your siblings?
Where do you,
draw the line,
That separate others,
From yours.
Or just you.
Alone.
Times like this,
You find out,
your priorities.
Also your ranks,
on others list.
Is it too cruel?
Or too stupid?
To be selfish?
Or selfless?
Is it just,
About survival?
Of course not.
At least for me.
I’d rather die,
A happy guy.
Than live,
a sad soul.
What’s the distance,
You want to keep,
From death,
If the chances,
Are 1 in 10,
Or 1 in 100,
Or 1 in 1,000,
Or 1 in 10,000.
If you kiss,
Your loved one?
What’s the distance,
From illness,
And suffering,
Or pain,
Or fear.
You can bear?
1 meter?
10 meter?
100 meter?
1,000 meter?
What if,
You are a doctor.
It’s your job,
And your duty.
To face death,
And watch death,
And feel death,
In your hand.
You breath death,
You touch death,
You fight death,
To the end!
Then you died.
For your duty,
And your job.
Or your family.
Or your patients.
Or your beliefs.
Is that fair?
Don’t feel like it.
But it happens.
People remembered,
They should be kind,
To their doctors.
Know their names,
And their faces.
And let them,
Do their job.
Take the pills,
They told you to.
And believe,
They will work.
The more you trust,
The more you recover.
And if,
You have it…
I will kiss you,
No matter what.
So I can feel,
What you feel.
And tell you,
We will be okay.
We can share,
The same room,
In the hospital.
They built it,
With two beds.
Because be sick,
Alone,
Isolated,
Is terrifying.
No one,
can take you,
Away,
From me.
It’s not your fault,
To be sick,
You lie,
About your illness,
You escape,
To safety,
Because,
You are scared.
Everyone,
Is scared.
We are people.
We should be treated,
as so.
Getting sick,
Doesn’t make us,
animals,
That you drag,
On the street,
Like dogs.
Taken away,
From homes,
Like pests.
We are scared.
Of you,
Even more.
The illness,
Can recover,
Eventually.
The fear,
Of you,
Remained.
Maybe,
It’s a test,
For humanity,
Of resilience.
Our body,
Will prevail.
But you,
Have failed.
You failed,
To tell us facts,
To comfort us,
To give us hope,
To show us respect,
To let us speak,
To give us choice.
Maybe,
That’s too much,
To ask,
From you.
There are,
Many of us,
Few of you.
Maybe,
When you count us,
We should not
Count on you.
We should count,
On ourselves.
To protect us,
From illness,
And from you.
