After a fun, brief (horrific) interlude at the Timezone videoke, a group of friends watched with me the movie “Sinister” at Glorietta. While I may not be the sturdiest when it comes to horror films, I’m not the kind to scare easily (though I am weak at gore). And yes, I admit that this film had me disturbed as much as “Insidious” did — except for the ending. Thank God.
Especially when you suddenly find yourself awake at 3:32AM after a few days, and the first thing your mind rivets to is that particular scene in the movie where the protagonist woke up…
Only to be succeeded overwhelmed by an equally terrifying thought:
“What if my friends uploaded that video clip of my horrible singing while I was offline?
I started to pray.
It takes courage to admit the existence of fear.
From children to adults, fears swarm our life like a plague. Fears come in all spectrums of imagination and sanity: from the unfounded fear of being alone in the dark, to the all-too-common fear of death, marriage or angry moms.
Fears remind us of our helplessness, of our lack of control to our environment — or even to our very own selves. Like flying cockroaches, the scariest part is predicting its flight pattern. It makes me wonder if we’re designed to be human landing pads for them. We fear possible accidents, possible crimes, possible illnesses, possible monsters, possible work-related problems.
And there’s the pragmatic type of fear which assails the adult life: being an adult.
Most people prefer to call it the midlife / quarterlife crises: a euphemism for a socio-cultural fear which may be attributed to Carl Jung’s concept of the collective subconscious.
While most fears dwell on the ‘unknown’ factor, the realization of becoming an adults is a bipolar one. These are those fears that we have come to nurture through the experiences we’ve had: We realize we’re no longer young. We realize we’re no longer children. We realize the realities of bills, payments, and responsibilities. We realize the brevities of personal and relational commitments. We realize the grave (yeah, that can be literal) consequences of our actions — both intended and unintended.
At the age of 30ish, I sometimes can’t help think as a look at the stars: “God, if a man’s lifespan is 60, then I’m already halfway through my life.” And all of a sudden, it makes me realize how trivial I am, how fast the past 30 years of my life was and how fast the next 30 years of my life can be.
And that’s disregarding the possibilities of fatal sickness and/or accidents.
What has my life been all about?
Do I want to die alone? Should I get married just because of that reason?
Will people say nice things about me on my funeral?
Will there be dogs in heaven? Do I get to own a puppy?
What am I really afraid of?
What am I really afraid to admit?