Complain

Bhopal India, a place I have only heard, a place I have only seen on television, the place where the world’s worst industrial accident occurred. In 2nd – 3rd of December 1984, after an accident in the Union Carbide India Limited Factory where gas forms of the chemical MIC (Methyl Isocyanate) used for pesticides went exposed into the air and was inhaled by the sleeping city, approximately 3000 people passed overnight. They died in their beds, in streets, their bodies littered everywhere. It was devastating, how a lot of people could die in just a few hours. As for me, it was sad, watching a disaster happen before my time, news I have seen only on documentaries. It was a lesson the world had to learn the hard way.


Death is an easy thing to relate to, everybody confronts death. Either you have seen someone die, someone you love dies, or you yourself is facing death. People died that night in Bhopal India; they had no time to complain. People had no choice but to breathe, and with every breath comes a poison that will undoubtedly end your life, they couldn't complain for we need air to live. They did not know what was killing them. Same goes for the Jews who died in the Holocaust. They had no choice. We remember them; they’re supposed to be remembered, for they were sacrifices in the never ending search of man for his purpose.


Death may come as a topic in lots of forms, and in this story it has come to me in the embodiment of how people complain and how we have a choice to at least be content of what we have. I remember my colleague telling me, “Our customers keep on complaining about their internet connections not working well, didn’t they know a lot of children could not even eat here in the Philippines?” It was meant as a joke, I laughed at it, but it never left my mind. I kept thinking about it, for I do complain. I curse over the Internet, poverty, my family, money, and I complain about almost everything.

I am a skeptic, a cynic, I dream of change, I do but I am a coward. I am what I am writing, and what I wrote specifically addresses to my shortcomings. I am a complainer, but who am I to complain when I have a choice? Who am I to complain if the air I breathe is clean and has no toxic in it? Who am I to complain if leaders before me fought for freedom and liberty that I am greatly benefiting from? Who am I to complain? I am greatly favored by having work when half the world dies in hunger. Life may have had its down-sides, but my life hasn't reached a point that I had no choice except death. I believe that in life there is enough hope. That by knowing contentment you’ll have the faith to keep going.


I hope to see death in a way that would lead me to live a better life.