In July 2006 my friend Tom and I traveled to Ireland. We were both 23 and we’d been friends since meeting at 12 in school. He was in training to be a chef and I was in the Latin programme and our teachers frowned upon us socializing. Am still not sure what bothered them. It must have got to him somehow cause he would forever be shy to meet my friends in college later.

We had a great time in Ireland and went from Dublin to Galway. I was barely politicized. Looked pretty damn good at the time, if I say so myself, I know it’s the worst crime to actually be pleased with yourself, our economy runs on our always being displeased with who we are and what we have. Was dating one of the most coveted girls at our faculty of Slavic studies. I hadn’t been politicized yet. I was obsessed with the American Civil War, Nirvana, the ladies, languages, movies and boardgames were starting to take a hold of me. Life felt… alive in a way it no longer does.

Days after returning from Ireland his sister called me for the first time ever. Tom was in a coma. He had a huge tumor in his belly. He would be dead six months later. I don’t know if it was fate or a coincidence, but I happened to visit him the night he was dying. He was already gasping for air. I was too young and too naive to fully realize he wouldn’t make it. At 23 you can’t fathom that strong 23 year old blokes die cause of some disease. Crashing with a motor bike cause of tears blurring their vision after a girlfriend breaks up with them? Yes, a romantic death yes. But cancer taking them? Just like that? Neh. I cried for the first time in about 5 years or so. I’d do quite a lot of crying, way more that I’d ever expected when 2 years later my father calculated that dying was preferable to keep carrying the pain that goes with living.

At the time there were several effects of seeing my friend die. I had always been good with saving money. And suddenly I wasn’t. In a year my savings went from 12,000 euro to about 3,000. Death felt very close suddenly. Why save? It took about 9 years to get my saving habits back.

Fast forward to two weeks ago.

A dear friend in Belgium with Ukrainian roots lets me know that a mutual friend is going to die. And that this friend has just found out.

About 37 years old. Russian roots. Acting talent. Creative. Very optimistic. Funny. Always ready for some artistic experiment. Organized events where she’d interview migrants in Belgium about their experience growing up in Belgium.

For two months she’d been having some discomfort after every meal.

She got curious.

It’s pancreatic cancer. Liver completely affected. Gall bladder too. Two weeks later she can’t eat normally anymore.

Am in shock, but not about to start blowing my savings.

I do wonder ACUTELY as to what I pour my time and energy in.

My options at 43 – see very recent profile picture – are much more limited. I also live in an age that is structured to make social contact face fo face in any meaningful way well nigh impossible and I am somehow who only fully comes alive with the right people.

So the whole weekend I’ve been reading book after book on Israel and Palestine, sharing some of what I discovered with someone entirely outside of my chosen online tribe: a committed zionist. Which is challenging to process since I experience some of his opinions as supporting evil, but at the same time I feel from him, as a person, that he himself is not evil.

I don’t want to make this longer than it needs to be.

Another young friend will be dead some time next year.

And other than being a truly loving, supportive, affectionate father to Bruno I seriously feel like I have managed to completely waste my life becoming a knowledgeable nobody.

And am saying that cause I mean it, not to hear counterarguments.

Am arrogant enough to think this is more honesty, openness and candid confession than you tend to run into online.

Have a blessed Sunday.