There’s this passage in The Book Thief where Death is personified and start to refer it(?)self as “I”.
You (I mean me) somehow want to befriend this Death person, witnessing how he would start claiming his feelings, emotions, conscience… or surprisingly: his humanity. Then you start to feel you can cheat on him, talk him out of putting his spell on you, and when it feels like you’ve done enough in this world, you will come to his house for a glass of beer or two and ask nicely for him to put you away out of your misery. Imagine, how convenient it is to be bestfriends with this person.
Then the miserable things really happen after realising that it won’t happen. If you’re lucky, you will probably die tomorrow, or if luck is not in your favor, perhaps you’ll endure a really long boring life but not because you cheat death, but merely because you don’t know him well enough to pick you up sooner or anytime you find it convenient. And even after you grow tired of the world and being naturally old in your saggy shell, he just won’t come because you never have that privilege to make Death as your acquaintance. – Read on Path.
“..karena anak adalah piring nafsu orangtuanya.”
You almost can’t find fault in that sentence from Emha Ainun Najib’s book. Which is one of the many reasons why I decided that I won’t be having any of my own. Frightful that I may not be able to contain the urge to force my own unfulfilled appetites to this other helpless …being. Err.. I mean, if you’re so keen setting a plot & path for your kid(s) why not write a novel instead?
If you feel am being shameless for revealing my obsessive compulsive habit at night, please, I just need to vent. This is me, venting. So— How common is it for a girl to wake up several times at night just to straighten up her bed sheet, making sure that its each corner perfectly fit to the mattress?