Explaining the existence of this blog

This was called for...

A generic picture of someone "living their life" courtesy gettyimages

A while ago, last semester, I published a survey on what people are afraid of, when it comes to the topic of death; and who or what would they miss the most/regret before their last breath. As it turns out, by sending out this survey on groups, I appeared suicidal in the eyes of the Res-Life Coordinators, who requested several meetings to comfort me and stop me from killing myself.

While I appreciate their concern, their attitude towards my survey worries me slightly. For asking my peers what scares them about death, I wished to get in a conversation that would aid their fears – allowing them to live more freely and realize that the inevitable is nothing to be afraid of, let alone hamper your present.

This survey was also supposed to encourage a thought of making the best of your life. Several individuals, in the survey, confessed their regrets and the need to express their feelings or do something one last time. To the reader of this blog, I request you to live! The intention of this blog is to reduce your inhibitions and live life to the fullest! In no way do I intend to desensitize you to the importance of life, but reduce the intimidating gleam of death that shadows most of our actions.

For those who answered “I will miss my dog”, I urge you to facetime them tonight. For those who would miss their parents, text them before you go to bed. For those who want to travel while they can – save up and plan! Work towards the fulfillment of your life, motivated by the possibility of death.

I was eventually put in front of a board, to assess my mental stability (sigh). They assessed my reasoning behind having a blog such as this. Having understood that this was done with good intentions and not to incite suicidal tendencies in my peers because ‘I myself might have it too’ (yes, they thought as well), they finally let me be.

I am happy with my life, and living it to the fullest (I have at least one dessert a day). I hope you do too.

Tale of a Cat that ruled my heart

A Cat called Zander

This post is about one of the most beautiful relationship I have had in my life. It is funny to think sometimes, how strangely attached we get to animals. There is a sense of comfort and relief in sharing your space, your emotions, and often your secrets with our little pets. People usually entrust this affection unto dogs, the commonly adored pets - who, for people like my girlfriend, have the power to fix any problem, just with their smile (and licks of course).

My heart, however, goes out to the feline kind - cats to be specific. Their carefree, mischievous, lazy and bold demeanor resonates extensively with my own self. While many think that cats are not affectionate, they are one of the most sensitive beings I know. They just have a different way of showing it. They aren't the needy kinds, but they are indeed affectionate.

As is obvious, I had a cat. Judging by the nature of this blog, and the tense of my sentence - yes, he isn't around anymore. Is he dead? I don't know, but he is always, always, always in my heart (and in the beautiful picture on my nightstand). He wasn't actually my cat, he was my host family's back in Italy - during my year long exchange program in Sardinia, Italy. Before I headed there, I had never had a pet, but I was looking forward to having one.

They called him Seth, a grey stray cat that once found its way in my host mother's car. He sniffed me a couple of times, let me pet him in a week, and within a month he was often curled between my legs, definitely more comfortable than I was. He would often take sips from my glass of wine, finish my crumbs from my pizza, bring me a trophy rat occasionally and get into fights with other cats and come back crying for love.

He was a brave wild cat who would always roam the neighborhood; and we would let him. At eight years old, he would jump off the balcony, fight cats twice his size and keep all his messy business outside the house. He would enjoy his life on his own, until eventually he got hungry and came meow-ing outside my door. There was something magical about him - as if he was speaking to all of us telepathically.  He would often come in my dreams and speak with me - telling me his name is Zander. Turns out, he had done so to my host brother as well. Sounds insane, doesn't it? But well, I never cared. In moments where I felt more closer to him, I would address him as Zander, and he would respond by rubbing his head on my knees and curling close to my legs.

Before my last month, I whispered in his ears that he would only have me around for another month. In eight years he had never climber anyone's bed (he was very civil that way). But after that day, he gave me company in my bed every single night. It was a small gesture, but it's in these small ways that cats reach your heart.

I missed him after I left, missed him loads. So much so that I went back to Italy after a year. By now the house had 4 more cats, recently introduced and openly despised by Seth. Exactly a year since I last saw him, I saw him again. He had just had a meal and was about to walk out when I called out his name. He turned, looked at me, walked back slowly and rubbed the back of his head on my knee. When I looked at him again, he had tears in his eyes, with the most heart-warming expression; then he ran out of the house on his business.

I later found out, that was going to be the last time I saw Seth. Turns out, that was the last time anyone saw Seth. He never came back. He was out in the open, enjoying the neighborhood - something that he always delighted in doing. Do I miss him? Sure. But I always hope that he is alive somewhere, having a filmy holiday in some kind of cat paradise. Or if he did die, I just hope he is in the real paradise, because a cat as lovely as him deserves no less.