Juxtapositions on my uncle's death

1. It seemed to me that my uncle had died three million miles away from my apartment. The distance had been the same since we left our sinking hometown.

2. Right across my apartment a proprietor hung a HOUSE FOR RENT sign with contact details.

3. This coming saturday marks the christening of a friend's daughter, a halloween party, and a tentative burial.

4. My father would always tell how the Christmas carols irritate everyone in my uncle's house. They were altogether unforgiving. My bedridden uncle vomits at the smell of food, and there were several hamon commercials every now and then, aired at midnight, my cousin turning down the volume.

5. During a visit, my father said he could busy himself all day watching trains pass by.

6. There is an abundance of references of fifty-centavo films and the songs they had lived with in the past.

7. A scene I remember: I was a kid when my uncle gave me an atlas wrapped in those National Bookstore saleslady jobs. I would want to describe at length at how the wrapping did appeal to me: it seemed well-meant, warm, but by the time I brushed my fingers as I would a tombstone with dust, or a foggy windshield, I knew it was someone from National Bookstore who did it. The entire thing--the wrapping, the gift--seemed like a painting only described in words, a painting the painter himself have never seen before, instructed only by a boy three months shy of six years old.

8. At some days, years ago, I would imagine my stoic regard when confronted with my father's death. I would think of his retirement and how I would splurge it on impulsive purchases. I had never been scarred by a death this close (the fact that it was three million miles away); though I wanted to keep it at bay, it still loomed there, at the horizon. Now, at twenty, I realized, I don't want my father to die, let alone tread along the same shore.

9. There is this undeniable convenience about death in terms of fictionalizing things. It's been as easy as making flowcharts when plotting people's deaths, or a murder in a whodunit, but in real life I would rather prolong the story arc, and it would be a line without any downfall, without any pause--

10. (To think that in films, deaths are depicted in lines, heartbeats, whatever that is on screen which beeps death as an eternal one, a horizon perhaps.)