Bondages. They are like shackles to our hearts; their manipulative sneerings attack mercilessly, savoring atrociously what's left of our sensitivity. If it's with nothing to do, it licks every bone clean. It leaves us to die, and nothing else, right? That's what I thought. What have we got to lose, we ponder, when we have nothing to gain? Why should we even speak out, we conclude, when no one hears a word we say? It seems as if the severity of our situations hypnotize people; it seems as if it mesmerizes them, making them drift away while it slowly digs our graves. It seems as if it evokes the feeling that we ought to forget: pity. Why do we pity others, knowing that their pain won't fade away? That their situations won't lessen in hardship? Why do we forget that there's so much to a situation than the negativism? There are opportunities. Opportunities to make them smile, to make them laugh so hard they're wheezing, opportunities to hug them, opportunities to make them believe, to have faith. So. Many. Opportunities. So why, then, do we never attempt to reach out and touch the stars, why do we shy away and gaze at them from afar with our telescopes? Exactly why do we always seem to shy away from the opportunity to grasp the optimistic aspects in situations? Why do we always seem to lunge—though subconsciously—for the bad? One answer, and one word: bondages. And so we seem to wonder, what good could ever come from something as appalling as that? We don't take risks, and let it stay as it is.

I don't know what's worse; the pains stringed with dying, or the pains stringed with dying alone.

____________________________________________________________________________

That was me; and I so desperately yearned for a life when someone actually cared and understood. I so desperately yearned for a time when my family would cry out, “How are you, kiddo?” or sugar, honey....any other endearing nickname. I waited so eagerly for a, “I love you, honey. Don't worry things will get better.” or “you're gonna make it cause you're a fighter.”

I waited. Probably even waited 2 years too long, because no one came.

I will admit, my parents did pop up every once in a while but only to unnecessarily fuss over me, feed me with their pitiful nothings, and to verbally scar me. Ever since I was 10, I knew I was battling a monster. It was apparent, seeing as I got irrational bruises, scorching headaches, and horribly pale skin. I wasn't scared, though; not like my parents. Daddy secluded himself from the world for a shameful two weeks. Mommy bawled, crushing my small body to hers that very dreadful day as if I would disappear from her if she didn't And that very terribly, horrible day was also the day I grew up. It wasn't because of the painful realization that I had cancer, it was because of the painful realization that everyone around me had readily, and fleetingly, surrendered. Their minds were deluged with accepting death, and moving on. Not one day was I given the chance to voice my thoughts, because not one day did someone actually seem to care and understand. Not until the day I met Nurse Kari. Nurse Kari, I promise, was the most beautiful, and amazing person I had ever met; she was a seraphic angel, and the joyous vibes she brought were of nothing that I had ever seen before. She taught me the many miracles of Jesus, Heaven, and other fascinating concepts that my parents would impetuously describe as “fiction”. But the best part of knowing Nurse Kari was: her music. “The beauty of music is that it yearns to be heard and understood,” she'd remind me every once in a while. Music, I learned, held many emotions, puzzles, and meanings. It was beautiful hearing the melodious sounds of empathy, of passion, and of sincerity. With music, I could fall asleep easily, it humming soothingly in the background. It was as if my worries crumbled under the strong grasp of rhythmic beats in sync. It held the strength that leukemia had snatched away from me; it gave me a reason to smile when maddening reality failed to. The music seemed to change me into a different person; it healed my brokenness, and scared away my bondages. With music, I had peace. There was no monster, there wasn't even a speck of negativism....just peace.

Every dawn, Nurse Kari would creep into my room clutching a variety of CDs, inserting in one of her choice. And every afternoon, I would wake up to a room full of so much color, even though, through the human eye, the walls would be deemed white. I'd thank God for another breath given, another day experienced, and for another day diminished that intervene with me finally leaving. I cherished life on Earth but, Nurse Kari promised me that the music playing in Heaven, would be better than any other music I'd ever listen to here, and I was very impressed to say the least. Needless to say, my life was amazing, and everything felt neatly and appropriately in place. Not for long.

Two days. I was given precisely two days to establish closure with the world . In other words, I was given two days to live, and only that. I tried not to crack, but the pressure of the world was really weighing down heavily on me. Dad had come to visit me, confessing to me,when I had asked, that Mom had been neglecting all her problems by drowning in alcohol. I was hurt that Mom hadn't come to visit me, but also scared because I knew it wouldn't get better when I left. Dad comforted me, holding me in his embrace for a seemingly long time. He didn't emit any words, just held me. And it was a thousand times better than receiving sympathy. He had left around 10 PM after I had fallen fast asleep, I was told. I wondered if Mom and him would be able to visit me again tomorrow.

Nurse Kari visited me early in the morning to play me one more song. I couldn't help but feel a horde of emotions swarming inside of me as I waited for her to insert the golden DVD. I was very drained of feeling, and could barely hold myself capable of sitting up straight. The music started off slow and gentle, relaxing my weakened bones. I could feel the support radiating from Nurse Kari's hand, as she hummed along to the beat.

I will fly

Like a shooting star

Beyond the atmosphere

Into the depths afar

His beautiful voice sung peacefully, beautifully, and powerfully. I smiled contentedly, closing my wearied eyes acknowledging, and gratefully accepting, that dying doesn't mean you've lost the battle, oh that's the thought that surges through the mind of one who is foolish. Dying means leaving behind the life full of imperfections, hurt, pain, misery, to fly beyond the atmosphere. Everyone dies, it could be through the bondage of cancer, the bondage of depression, the bondage of Alzheimer, or the bondage of other illnesses. But have we ever thought that maybe, just maybe, bondages are made to set us free? Have we ever seemed to think that maybe we're just like fledglings; little innocent baby birds attempting flight? We're clueless, naive, curious, and we try and try and try countless times to fly because once we're flying, there's no prey that can hurt us from the ground, once we're flying there's no more being trapped; no more feet burning feverishly from walking too much. Once we're flying, we're free. Free from every hardship on Earth, and on land.

So maybe, we actually do live to die.

Hold ajar the door

So I can soar......

I could feel my pulse slowing, and the smile never left my face. I truly felt as if I were escaping my bondages second by second.

“Megan!” I could hear someone screech, the voice sounded as if it belonged to my mother. But it was all I heard before I truly felt gone from the world, and happily escaped to where pain was no more.

.....Beyond the atmosphere

Where the pain's no more.