I have always been fascinated by time; always been amazed that each time we lift our heads up to the sky, we gaze into the past. A long-time past of fiery chariots that leave trails of stars behind them.

We all will, one day, leave for somewhere far, far away. Beyond this earth. Away from this material world. It is simply a matter of who leaves first. 

When my granddad passed, I started wondering what became of his consciousness. It was the first time in my life that I lost someone so close; the first time I sat face to face with death. Mind you, death is a topic that lives rent free in my head. Should I count all the texts I have written, more than 70% talk about it. I know the exact figure because I counted my texts and did the math.

When granddad passed, I became aware that it was only a matter of time before grandma leaves too, then mom, then me. It ends with me.

A while ago, I asked dad, “What do you think of death?”

“I don’t.” He paused. “You don’t think about it until it’s here. It is just like growing up. You don’t know you are aging until you have.”

Grief comes uninvited, unexpected. When grief visited me after pops passed, I was lying in bed. His face appeared in my mind. A tear streamed down my face. I sat straight. I wanted to look grief in the eye. It was only then that I cried.

One of the many reasons why I fancy quantum physics theories is that they offer the most plausible explanation of what happens to us after we die.

Maybe—maybe—in the quantum realms of endless possibilities, my granddad never died. He is running in fields of gold.

You must understand that I was born and raised a Christian. The afterlife dogma sounds illogical to me. The resurrection on earth, too. Not that one is better than the other. That and, [G]od’s supposedly perfect and ingenious mind couldn’t come up with a better solution to our mortality but to hang himself/his son—depending on the denominational trip—on a cross.

I put [G]od on the bench to ponder on other solutions. Ones that don’t involve guilt-tripping and gaslighting.

Now in quantum theory, if you take a piece of paper and burn it, it vaporises into thin air. Only in theory, you could assemble the ashes and constitute the same paper again. I love Brian Cox. I love him more than I love [G]od. He’s got the rare talent of explaining rather complex concepts in easy words. Unlike the Bible.

Time never becomes our friend. Endless, marching forward, carrying us along. With no respite. The same time that binds us, liberates us. It is just a matter of time.

When time claims our loved ones, we run a different kind of race. We try to dissociate, imprisoned in-between what was and what is. At best, we end up crossing over to meet those we love; hastily running towards the same destiny, ragingly impatient to reunite with them. We lay in the same ground that has blessed those who have already left.

But then, where do we cross over to? The nothingness of time.

It is all absurd. What happens to all the stories we tell? The loves we experience? The emotions that bind us? Does it all go away?

That’s it? We disappear into oblivion like an evanescent pillar of smoke.

Niel deGrasse and Brian Cox are becoming my best friends.