2013’s Final Count Down
What it looks like right now as I watch from my rear window. Will the forecast of another flood truly come?
I am going to quote something from an article in yesterday’s NST.
“ The truth is, once we live beyond 72 – which is the average life expectancy for men – we are literally preparing to depart….”
Tan Sri Ani Arope, about whom the article was written, knows how to express it better. Now in his early 80s he puts it as "waiting in the departure lounge of life".
The way he puts it reminds me, now trailing not far behind him in age, of the front pages of my old annual diaries. Just before the end of the last day of the year some sixty years ago, I would be sitting quietly trying to compose my thoughts for the new years. Invariably I expressed my gratitude for whatever success I had achieved, declared my resolutions for the new year and prayed that He would continue to help. Today, each time I glance at what I wrote then (in broken Arabic!), knowing how much of my prayers, and more, have been granted, I can never hold back my tears. Now, the elder ones of my grand-children are at the age I was then. They are totally oblivious of what went through their grandfather’s mind those years when he was at their today's age. They are the fast forward of his future then.
Strange enough, not once in those old pages I sought for a long life. Now, on my prayer mat I thank Him for giving me my life and giving me my partner in life etc, etc ….”, and pray that while I sit ‘waiting in the departure lounge of ‘life’, HE would slightly delay the ‘plane’, giving me the chance to catch up with my lost time.
Since I have ceased buying diaries for my private thoughts I am using this ‘open’ diary to wish my visitors and readers another year of success and happiness, mindful of the gifts we all have received in life. And I pray the same as I do for my fellow passengers sitting around me.
I will leave this last page of 2013 with a part of a well known soliloquy:
“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Berkhidmat kerana Tuhan untuk kemanusiaan