I remembered reading this book, Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom, which was a memoir by the author for his college professor, Morrie. This is one of the most important books I read in my life, if not the most important. You know how in The Book Thief , Liesel had this list of books that she stole from the Nazis, if I needed to steal, this would make the list. I remembered sitting with my father as I read finish the last few pages. After finishing it, I was in tears and I told my father, “I love you”. It’s not an overly emotional story by any stretch of the imagination but the lessons taught by Morrie to Mitch were so profound and yet so simple which makes you wonder, “Where am I in my life?”. There was one line which stuck by me and I hope I am quoting it right, “The truth is, Mitch, once you learn how to die, you learn how to live.”

That is the greatest lesson Morrie has taught Mitch.

I don’t have many near death experiences if I were to be honest and that’s probably a good thing. There was once I almost got hit by the bus while I was crossing the road trying to get some popcorn chicken from KFC. Imagine that. Death by chicken. Another time, I was in the front passenger seat and this car slammed onto my side from the left. If you searched through the archives (please don’t, it’s horrendous), I wrote a half fictional story about a boy suspected of having swine flu. Well, that boy was me. I was in this white room, isolated and alone, much like being in confinement. For those four hours, I wondered what will happen to me if the suspicion is not a mere guess any more.  At the end of that period I said, “I’m ready.”.

It turned out I was alright. For some peculiar reason, the fever that I had previously just didn’t subside after five days but eventually, it did, two days after that incident. I didn’t know if it was the medication I took as a precaution for the swine flu or that I was actually fine but everything turned out well. Anyway that’s my story but this wasn’t the reason I wrote this post. Four and a half months ago, I was working at my internship and it was almost break time, I checked my phone and saw a text from my friend. It read:

“So… the bad news is that I have lymphoma.

Good news is that I guess it’s a blessing in disguise that they picked it up =) Also, out of the different type of cancers it’s one of the most treatable. However, will probably need to take the next semester off. Will fight and get through this!!”

Maybe I should introduce who this guy is. He’s one of the most multi-talented people I know. He plays the piano, guitar and basically any instrument. He studies civil architecture. He is also a natural at sports. He’s also very much rooted in the Catholicism religion. In a nutshell, he is one of the nicest guys I know and also one my closest friends. So, when you hear news like this, it is natural to feel shocked I suppose. If I were in his position, I wouldn’t have know how to react, let alone be optimistic and hopeful but just observe the second part of that message. Even with bad news, he manages to find the other perspective of things. It’s amazing. Isn’t it?

Of course I wasn’t in Sydney then. So I didn’t manage to see him. When I came back, I did however see him but he was bald now due to the chemotherapy sessions that he is going through. Also, he didn’t actually postpone uni but actually enrolled for the semester. Again, he didn’t show any signs of suffering or pain, but manages to keep it in and put on a brave face. The old advice and perhaps a cliché at times, ‘It doesn’t matter what happened but how you respond’ is very much alive in this one. How is it possible he can go through chemotherapy sessions, shoulder the burden of having lymphoma and yet still being able to study four courses at university? In the midst of that, he still manages to catch up with friends and keeps smiling.

Sidetracking a bit, the priest gave a sermon yesterday regarding grace. He said these days, “We worry too much about everything. We worry too much about the future. If you read self-help books, they always say have a goal and work towards it. Don’t care about distractions and just continue work towards that goal. The problem with that is where is the grace in that?”. Yes, having a goal is good and knowing where your life is five years from now is also, good. But, we are talking about five years from here. You work towards your goal but how about everything else? The day to day blessings and gifts? The stories of inspiration and grace? The life of fruitfulness?

What my friend has is grace. He is willing to work through it day by day and refuses to give up. In a sense, the elements of faith, hope and love comes full circle in this. He has faith in God that His grace is unceasing. He has hope that he will be alright. Ultimately, he loves God and also has the love of God that is shown to him through his family and friends. People might say, “What does God have to do with this?” but this isn’t a debate about whether it is science or religion but rather how one’s beliefs help him through the most difficult period of his life.

Weeks of treatment and prayers culminated in him being fully recovered. This time, another message was sent:

Hey Augie! 

Was going to be the start of the 7th round (of chemotherapy), but confirmed this morning that treatment is completely over.

Just regular checkups with the specialist every 3 months. =)

That’s the story. Perhaps the best story I have written cause it did take place and it is the reason why I wrote this blog to begin with. People like him are where I get my stories from.

I will never know if he learned how to die. I never asked him that. It is a weird thing to ask someone. “Hey mate, did you learn how to die?” I will probably get punched in areas important for reproduction. I can tell you this, this guy knows how to live. It’s a funny thing really. It is not something I can explain but I think you do know what I mean.

As for me, I am still learning the greatest lesson of Morrie. Day by day, story by story, person by person, one day, I will know what it truly means to live.