I (finally) did my year examination. I went for a solo road trip on Scotland – and I’ll definitely get back to that.
But these days there is something in my mind that I’ve been trying to deal with.
I never told you this before, but I’m not afraid of dying. I used to. When I crossed a road, I would always, always think, that if a car came, I’d die without having performing a surgery on a kid. And then I became a resident. And I’ve performed some surgeries so far.
This has struck me as the etiology of my lack of fear. I now ride a scooter on daily bases; taking off and landing, which used the be dreadful moments in every flight, are now my favourite parts. And I’m not afraid of highs anymore.
But this past 6 months, my car broke while I was driving on a highway; a car hit my scooter and I fell. Then I had my first car accident, one month later; in two or three weeks I got a flat tire in the middle of nowhere, alone, with no cell phone coverage. And I “almost” got hit in my scooter. Twice.
So this kept me thinking that perhaps the universe is trying to tell me something. And I don’t know exactly what. If I am to die soon, the world will be absolutely the same – only I won’t have the privilege to be on it. Even thought death in itself does not scare me, the concept of a lack of conciousness is something that I find disturbing.
So now when I ride my scooter, it’s different. I’m not shaking, I don’t feel afraid. But these sceneries of a car turning or not stoping became this possibility that is as likely of happening as not to.
It’s all just that random.
So maybe there’s not a plan, maybe there’s not a meaning behind all these scenarios. And if there’s anything to read between the lines it might be something as simple as this: the privilege of living.