And here I am at my age, 76 years and 8 months, and I ask myself, what is the point of me still being here?
What am I doing that is worthwhile?
What is there to hold me back if I should disappear?
I sincerely believe that I have finished my mission on this earth.

In my life, I have studied a lot, I have been culturally enriched, I have worked a lot without necessarily getting rich in dollars, I have traveled a lot visiting many countries and cities, I have known many people with whom I have conversed in at least six languages. I have enjoyed all this and here I am at the end of the tunnel. The example here is nice when I compare life to a tunnel that is usually dark until its end. And indeed sometimes life is not always rosy. There is still....

I will gladly take inventory of those who will mourn me and not for long, because nowadays we forget quickly. And it is so much better because each one has its own problems. And that does not bother me much. I can ask myself the question, what will I leave behind to make people talk about me?
A legacy? A foundation? A building? A book? A reputation?
Sorry, none of the above.

I have a large family, children, grandchildren, brothers and sisters, cousins all over the world, friends, a few acquaintances here and there, like everyone else I think, and I think that once I am gone, who will mourn  me ?

Speaking of mourning, I have just lost my sister Esther, the second after me, a month and a half ago and I think that in my case, I will keep her mourning for a long time.  There were eight of us with my parents and now there are only five. It seems that this is life, that we get used to it and that's why I insist that life will go on without me. How important are we, each of us? We think we are strong and beautiful, respectful, tolerant, kind to others, but once we are gone, what is left?

A curious and annoying fact is to ask myself; who will really mourn me? The question is funny, maybe even stupid. Is it my selfish and vain side that makes me think this way? I won't be around to know, so it doesn't matter if we cry or not! I realize how weak we humans are. Who do we think we are? Not very important in life, even less in death!
I close quickly this rather unpleasant chapter.

I usually write about ten paragraphs not to annoy the reader, but here after six of them, it seems it is enough, considering they are not very rosy.
How curious, I started writing at 76+8 and today  I am 77+10 and life goes on.

Here I am on the seventh paragraph of this little piece of writing, I had no idea how to start it, let alone how to finish it.
By the way, what was the idea of this writing?
Yes, it was about my life passing by, about my somewhat amorphous state in front of this reality, about my concern about what I will or will not leave behind. I think the adjective existential would apply to me to some extent. I am convinced that the word existential is the right one because it means well what comes out of existence as a lived reality.

And now, shall I conclude?   Conclude what?
Oh, yes! I wanted to leave! To go where? To leave this world?
Don't you see the pleasure you have in writing?
No matter what the subject is, the important thing is this exercise.
What a richness the dictionary has! While looking for the existential word, I find exocet. This word is familiar to me because I remember that during the Falklands war, the English launched exocet torpedoes against Argentine ships. This word comes from the fish of the same name, which lives in the warm waters, twenty to thirty centimeters long, which accomplishes flights of 200 to 300 meters out of the water thanks to extremely developed pectoral fins. The exocet is commonly called "flying fish".

Must I confess my satisfaction to have debated in one hour this idea which was annoying me, in other words which was bothering me. All of this ended up convincing me that rather than leave, I would have to write more.

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