Wandering in the universe, completely lost, opens up some old wounds. I think about trivial things that I've never been able to forgive, from my parents' routine delays in picking me up from school to the girl my brother stole from me in eighth grade.
Forgiveness is a funny thing; thinking deeply now, I don't think it even exists. It's an excuse we create in our heads to be able to move on with our lives.
Even now, nearing death, I wish I could punch my brother square in the face, one of those punches that knocks out a couple of teeth. I should have done that back then.
"I can't even remember the girl's name."
Forgiveness is a way of lying to ourselves and being okay in front of other people.
"Of course you remember her name."
What's the point of lying to ourselves? It's one of the stupidest things humans do.
"Silvana, Silvana, Silvana!"
We end up believing our own lies and become people molded by ourselves. People who deep down are other people, neither worse nor better, just different from our essence.
I wish I could forgive myself for not being quick enough to secure the safety cable. I didn't need to die like this, drifting through the universe while my oxygen tank slowly empties. I start having spasms, my body trembling every five minutes. It's a way for my brain to try to deceive the rest of me into thinking everything will be okay, that this isn't really happening.
"Look closely at everything," I think, without making a sound, "Stay sane at all times, don't miss anything, these thoughts passing through your head represent what you are... What you were."
Looking into the black hole of my heart, I realize I wasn't able to forgive, but unlike love, forgiveness doesn't matter so much in the end.
It's hard to think about forgiveness and ignore the vision of Jesus Christ that comes to mind when I close my eyes. Even though I've never been religious, I end up falling into this cliché. I thought I would be different from everyone else, but in the end, we're all the same. It doesn't matter if you're lying in a hospital bed sick or having your body propelled among the stars, this religious thing seems to stick to us like a tick. I try to think about other things, and for the first time, I hear my voice inside my claustrophobic helmet:
"Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name..."
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Drifting in the Space of Ramblings
Science FictionAn astronaut lost in space. Dying. Drifting. What will be the last things to pass through his mind before death?
