Death. 

The opposite of life. The solemness, the grief it brings, the fear it strikes. As humans, we often celebrate the beginning of life, but speaking of death, it seems to be a taboo in eastern culture. Where mourning takes place, and wails echo through the wards.

Today, I witnessed the process of death. It's not terrifying, it's not horrifying, instead, my mind stood at a still, remaining emotionless, said my prayers, as I saw how the patient's family grieved, how doctors did CPR, and how doctors did counselling. I stood at a distance watching the whole process. And just a couple hours back, I saw the same patient at his bedside while the head doctor did his rounds with doctors, junior doctors and interns, lying there tired and weary, and jaundiced. Most patients in the cancer wards are tired and weary and frail, you just wouldn't know when their time is up. For the past few days, I've heard of patient deaths as we switched our shifts in the morning, but today was the first time in my life I saw how life was taken away.

At this moment, I don't need a hug, I'm not scared, I'm not depressed, it's more of an experience, but an unexplainable feeling ran through my body and mind as I stood there, doctors doing their last bit of CPR, my hair follicles at attention, as if I could feel the patient literally leaving and slipping past us. 

It's ironic to mention here that life is fragile. But I can't really express how I feel now. It's a blank slate now.