The last day of normality.
I am not sure who to blame for this unexpected thought; maybe it is the inheritance of the Mexican culture that I was raised with, or maybe just my ability to bore myself if something is not cooking in my head; But I often think of things of death. What is true though is that I have always seen death with a relative sense of normality, as part of life itself.
Brushing my teeth, as I look up into the mirror, wet with cold water trying to get me more awake at the awe hours of the morning, the thought crosses my head: “What if today, was the last normal day of my life”.
Well I must confess that my thought was more like: “What if today was the last day of my life”; but then I started thinking that for those who are badly sick, truly hurt, or stuck in situations in which life is unequivocally extinguishing out of the lives, this thought may not apply; instead, I thought, “What if today was the last normal day of my life”?; A life that either ends or one that takes an unexpected turn towards the path of death; all of this while I brush my teeth vigorously.
As I proceeded to place my naked behind on the toilet to do my morning duties, I thought: “How is this moment different, from the morning rituals of those who for example died in the subway terrorists attacks in Madrid, or that one person that unexpectedly got struck by a car as he or she was going to work by bicycle (to enjoy the fresh air of that particular morning)"?
I contemplate my hands, as they lay quietly in both sides of my legs. I can see them moving, tingling with as much life as anyone can have at 5:25 in the morning. I notice how my feet feel, I perform a self-reflection at one of the most insignificant and overseen moments of my life; I see myself, and inside, I see what I was doing of life at that particular moment.
And the true of the fact is that some people would die again to have one of those moments back in their hands, holding a sense of normality or for that matter, life itself.
As I stepped into the shower and let the water go through my body, I made the first (semi-conscious) choice of my day: What type of soap should I choose today? Would it be a mixture of Goat-milk and oatmeal, coconut oil, or the Shea butter bar? All sitting lined up for my convenience and pleasure; And then it hit me, this is what my life demands, the every-day, almost involuntary choices that I can make, because I have life, and because it is not threatened.
What if today was the last day of my life as I know it? Will I notice that I chose to wear my black shoes instead of the brown ones? Will it have made a difference if I had not skipped breakfast? Would I have said or done something different if I had known this was it? Or even more; in the end, does it really matter?
