I've been to a funeral before.

For being 22, my experience with death has been sparse, even mythical. I hear about it, I'm aware of it but never really getting close to me in any significant degree.

Now, just moments away from the shocking announcement; I sense the rumination process a younger or childish me wouldn't be able to do. The initial announcement produces panic, denial, pleas for it not to be true. I uttered the cliche, 'oh my god' when my mother woke me to nervously say; Pancho is dead.

The sounds, smells are all familiar and the world outside my window keeps turning, while a family griefs. Now, I chew over what little I know about the particulars, process it, and chew it again. The at-large ideas of death are too big for an amateur to digest.

What to say about it now? Other than it's at the door, for all of us. One day you're fine the next you're not. That it is life. And our life, our reality will not persist. The grand glimpse we call our life is worth living for ourselves, playing it your way as to not have regrets when one day you don't wake up.

Melancholic sentiments don't seem weak at this moment. As I look at my own healthy skin, I feel feeble and futile. Yet, these electronic words, while at the mercy of Blogger's existence, look everlasting and strong.