Death? Funny? Yeah.

It is my fervent wish that people remember how I lived my life, and not how I died. I would like people, when asked of me, say “Oh CJ, he was such a nice guy!” or, “CJ, he read a lot, and went out a lot, and drank a lot”, or even, “That CJ, he broke my heart”. I cringe at the thought of being remembered as “the guy who died while peeing on the sink and slipped, thus cracking his head on the toilet bowl” or “the guy who died because he went out even if his mom told him not to”. An embarrassing death is probably the only thing worse than death itself.

This hope, this wish, was reaffirmed today. I saw my mom off at the airport, and was on my way to the office, rather in a hurry because I was running late for work, when the incident occured. Cars and trucks weren’t moving because it was traffic, and the light was red. I crossed the street, confident that nothing possibly could go wrong. In a split second, I was on the ground, watching my bag fly and land on the opposite curb, my slipper following suit. I didn’t even know what hit me. I got up in a flash, and looked around to see if anyone saw me. Since the traffic wasn’t moving, all eyes were on me. Although I was scared, I also wanted the ground to swallow me up.

The culprit was a guy on a motorcylce who was weaving his way in and out of the traffic. The guy had the decency to ask if I was okay, and offered to bring me to the hospital. After a furtive inspection of my body (nothing’s broken, I’m glad to say), I found out that I only had a scratch on my palm and one on my leg. But nothing, nothing could have saved me from the embarrassment. The people around me began offering me help, which I politely, shakily declined. Others wanted me to have the guy arrested, since they said it was his fault, and not mine. My thoughts were too muddled, and I was more conscious of the need to get away from the scene of the crime. When I arrived at the office, late, I had to dodge questions thrown by people (ehem, BOSS) as to why I needed some disinfectant. I did not want to recount, verbally, my little adventure. Who would?

I know I could have been seriously injured, or worse, I could have died. But I am thankful I didn’t. This has been my second or third brush with death (that I am aware of). The first one was just slightly embarrassing. I was sleeping in the car when the collision occured, so I didn’t know what was happening, and I woke up at the hospital. The embarrassing part was when people told me all I was mumbling while I was out was where my cellphone was.

I am happy I’m alive, albeit physically and emotionally scarred. And this is another lesson learned (Never cross a street until you absolutely have to, and make sure you don’t see anything moving while you do so). I’m happy I’ve been given another chance. I wouldn’t want people to remember me as, “CJ? He died while crossing the street. By a truck? No. By a motorcycle!” Please, Lord. Spare me.