Perplexed by love

The Bucket List.

"Three months. We're sorry, but we did the best we could. It was too late."

The words echoed through my ears as if from the end of a long corridor. I still believe that I had put up a good fight against cancer. But I lost. Nevertheless, I had three months before I die. Three months to live.

The bus ride home was rather silent. People seemed to smile at me. Or was it just me trying to find a bright side? I didn't know.

At home, I went and washed my face. A bald man looked back at me. The chemo had completely gotten rid of my hair. The pile of medicine on my dinner table were now pointless. I dumped all of it into the trash and collapsed on the sofa. I never turned the lights on. The TV seemed to play something. I didn't want to watch it, but playing it in the background have a relief from the silence which seemed so deadly.

It was way over my regular bedtime. Yet tonight, I didn't feel sleepy, nor hungry. I felt helpless. I don't know what motivated me to go to my bookshelf. I never felt like reading. Yet, I took a worn out book from the bottom shelf. Sinking into the warmth of my bed, I opened it. Before I read the title, a paper fell out from the book, into my lap. It was a handwritten list and I instantly recognized it. I wrote it as a student, making a list of the things I wanted to do before I was thirty. It felt funny now... I'd never be thirty.

Yet there was something about the list which seemed to brighten my mood. Every single thing on this list, was something I still wanted to do. Visit Iceland, skydive, bungee jump, see the northern lights and so on... I instantly knew what to do.

The next day, I woke up feeling rather happy, the irony of me smiling in the face of death seemed to brighten my mood much more. I called in sick to work. And then I called John, my colleague at work, The "Guy Guy" as he was called by the people at my work, as he knew a guy for everything. Literally everything. I still remember one day at work a pigeon flew into the office right into our automated 3d printer systems. John took his phone and dialed a number, and a few guys who knew exactly how to remove a live bird from an automated machinery without messing up the calibration were there. The "Guy Guy" was an apt name for him.

"Hey bro, what’s up?"

"John, I need somebody to buy all of my stuff"

"All of your stuff?"

"Pretty much, yeah. Excluding my clothes, a travelling bag, my watch and my camera"

"You sure bro? I can help you out with some money, just in case"

"No thanks dude… but I'm sure. And please, the faster, the better"

"Consider it done."

Professionalism was John’s best quality.

I have a friend circle. And I knew what they would do if I told them what I was about to do. I had enough of the sympathy talks. Don't get me wrong. They still are among my best buddies, but the journey ahead was mine to travel. Mine alone.

That night I wrote a resignation notification to my company, as it was mandatory by the company policy. As for the reason, I almost wrote cancer, before typing it in as 'Bucket list'.

I sold everything and booked a ticket to Iceland. I failed against cancer. But I won’t fail in life.

It's been four months now, and I've crossed off everything from the hand written list I found from the worn book. The happiness which filled my life must have dilated the clock of cancer, nevertheless, I knew it wasn't permanent, and the end was near, for I felt increasingly tired and painful every day. I never visited another hospital for a checkup. I didn't want to.

Today, as I write this on my travel diary, I wonder if anyone would ever find this if I am to perish here. I seriously doubt if anybody would ever come searching for a diary in the middle of the Amazon forests.

I never believed in afterlife, a life after death. The idea seemed stupid to me. But today as I watch the sun rise over the horizon, I feel something that I've not felt since the day I knew I had cancer. Faith.