"...treatment for stomach ulcer..." In her voice was the sound of sorrow. A man in crutches limped painfully and slowly by, his face grimacing, while dozens of people flowed like a constant stream all around him, all hurrying, all a vision of blur that appeared and disappeared in front of me.
"... my son has cerebral palsy, he depends on me completely..." Another voice, kind-sounding yet forlorn, came from a faceless someone in the crowd. All these voices, all these different voices expressing different degrees of suffering, outing various facets of the fragility of this body of ours that is susceptible to ageing, to falling ill and to slowly, slowly dying. A number of Indonesian carers gathered in one corner and talked among themselves.
"Quick, to the seventh floor! Dad's in a lot of pain!" went the excited voice of a man in Taiwanese. He was surrounded by two little children who had confused looks on their faces.
"The doctor said the tumour has reaches my spine..." Her words were filled with despair, and seemed to be fighting back tears. I turned to see where the voice came from, to perhaps give her a look or smile of encouragement, but she was a face among many.
I paced around the hospital, waiting for mum to come out of the treatment room. I came across the maternity ward. A young mother held her dear baby child in her arms. "You are so beautiful, you are so beautiful..." The mother's voice was full of hope, full of happiness.
All these painful, dehumanising illnesses, and the inevitable fate of slowly, slowly dying. Is it all worth the moment of joy of being born?
No comments:
Post a Comment