I can’t die.
Not because I’m afraid to die.
Like many others (or in fact, all others), I have people who depend on me to be alive, and I can’t die. I can’t because I find it painful to visualize the scene of my younger kid (who is 3 this year) looking for me, and I’m not around for him.
I shudder at the thoughts of him in the arms of the woman I love, and her sobbing while she tells him “Daddy’s not coming back anymore”. If after-life is true, I abhor the image of looking at the show-of-life they have to continue even after my departure. I hate to feel the sense of lost seeing the ones I love, but not having the privilege to touch them; not giving them the hugs I love giving because I am but thin air around them without their knowledge. I can’t imagine how it will be, if wrapping my arms around the head of my little kid and kissing his forehead is no longer possible. The sight of him finishing his milk, and waiting for me, and only me, to collect the bottle from him is something I’m not ready to forgo. His mother attempting to wash his milk bottle, only to be faced with his resistance and insistence to have no one, but his father, to do the job, and his mother breaking down trying very hard to convince him that daddy’s not going to do the job anymore, is a story I’m not willing to write. So, I can’t die.
But, I’m not afraid to die.
In the eyes of my little ones, I am their hero. They count on me to be there for them when they are helpless, when they are at their weakest. In the face of threat during peacetime, I’ll do what it takes as their hero to protect the helpless ones behind me, even if it means throwing my life out to take on the punches of the tyrant. When the need comes, I’ll do it, I’ll be fearless, and I’ll stay alive, because I can’t die.
When I don my green uniform (and my buddies and I will be this August), I’m ready for anything that may come threatening the peace in this country that my loved ones call home. I will fight, alongside my buddies who have been through sweat and tears with me, to protect the citizens of this island that include my loved ones who I do not wish to see suffer with the news of my demise. So, I can’t die.
If threat comes and war starts, we’ll be literally at the line defending against the intrusion of any visitors we don’t welcome, and losing the fight will mean having our doors walked across right in front of us. So, we can’t die.
If we fight with our lives to protect, we fight also with our lives to live. We can’t die.
Andy Lawson is the average man on the street that you’ll not even trouble yourself looking at him if he passes by you. He’s sensitive to bullshit, and he hates mediocrity in most people. He is the author of his self-published book: Facts and Fiction of Fengshui: Facts that Masters are NOT Telling You. He doesn’t have Facebook or Twitter, because he hates to be associated with people who tend to be passive-aggressive online, but he does have a very limited set of vocabularies, terrible grammar, a twisted mind that makes himself God in his own twisted world and an ability to communicate with people who wish to be his friend.