Some things come, some things go

I had a bad week. It was not the low point of my PC service, and didn't have quiet the hopeless "winter will never leave, i'll freeze to death if I don't go insane first" feeling from early february. But it was bad none the less. I learned that an old friend of mine from the debate world had died on easter morning. It was surprising.

David was not a perfect person. He was abrupt, tended to be rude, cursed like you wouldn't believe, and in my oh-so-perfect opinion made many poor choices as a debate judge. In other words, he was an interesting and flawed man who I was happy to call a friend. I've known david was sick for a long time, but simply didn't remember it. It never seemed that important. he tended to hang around with the PLNU team, and I got to know him in that context. he ended up getting his degree from CSULB and sort of hanging around in the socal debate circuit, coaching and judging, and generally enjoying the camaraderie of highly intelligent people arguing over very minor things, and smoking far too many cigarettes to boot.

When a person my age goes into the peace corps, they expect their friends to get married, get divorced/break up, and have children. they do not expect their friends to die. so, when i got the email from skip about david, it was not great. unexpected, and painful, in that i'm really not sure when i last saw him. it seems to be a very simple fact that memories are malleable - i'm sure 2 weeks from now i'll have a flash of inspiration and remember something. But at the same time, part of me will always wonder, and quietly assume that i have forgotten the last words i spoke to a friend. living life thoughtfully is difficult. it is beyond cliche to discuss the awaking of one's own sense of mortality after exposure to the unexpected death of a friend, and frankly, i won't bore you with the details that don't exist. i recognize that the grief of loosing a friend is temporary and transient, and that promises made to oneself rarely are carried out.

but at the same time, it does sadden me to realize the impossibility of cataloging human interaction into a vast 'what if' database, held in escrow for the possibility of loss. the sheer impossibility of it boggles the mind. perhaps someday my memory will be better (i sincerely doubt it) but even if so, the project will become tedious after several years, fall to the wayside, and then come crashing back to the forefront in the event of some disastrous occurrence. living one's life from grief to grief simply doesn't seem like living to me. but the question of what to do while living has so many answers that simply typing words doesn't do it justice.

so i sat on the porch of my office building, and watched the traffic in the street as the dust swirled. i bought a packet of cigarettes, lit one, and just let it burn. it seemed fitting, as david always smelled strongly of cigarettes, assuming he didn't have one lit. i watched the dust and cigarette smoke, and felt loneliness and grief for a friend who i will not be able to hug when i return to the states. i rarely feel like i am living in the developing world, but that day, it came crashing down on me that i am 7000 miles from my home, in a place that has a veneer of similarity but vast gulfs of cultural difference.

if i haven't already plunged over the edge of maudlin romanticism, i'm certainly teetering. there's an obvious metaphor there i realize after i have typed it - boring, predictable, and frankly over-the-top sentimental. it is, however, what happened. talking with mom and nathan definitely helped - thank you both for calling me. i greatly appreciate it.

my friend has died, and i will miss him. in the words of kurt vonnegut, 'and so it goes.'