Letter to those who can’t repeople the earth

I think about carnal pleasures (most of the times) and look around and feel certain that something tragic is well on its way. All of this is easy to say in recollection, and I am not claiming prophecy. I am not playing made up fortune teller. I do feel, though, and I believe it’s true, that tragedies- all kinds of disasters- are always coiled up and ready to come, and that the happening of them has been scheduled, someone, long in advance.

I don’t know when it will come or what form it would take, nor do I know that no man can give another safety in it.

There will always be one final everything– the last word, of course, the last blink of an eye; there will be one last blog entry you write, the last log-in or log-out click, one last emoticon you will use. There will be a last time you can open the fridge, a last movie you will see, a last time you ride in a jeepney with nostalgic songs. It doesn’t matter how many coins you throw into the wishing well or how many times you kneel down a prayer in a day. You will make one last photograph, and be photographed one final time by somebody else; there will be one last time you will walk on a particular street, one last time you will go out from your house or come back into it. You will have one last beer, one last dream, one last orgasm, one last cigarette. There will be one final time you will see or will be seen by the man or the woman you have loved, or the people you have known, unless, of course, you outlive them all, which is unlikely.

You will lick one last stamp for the last letter you made.

I hope you won’t miss it. But you won’t know it when you do.