I’ve just realized there is a perfect excuse for camwhoring. Earlier tonight I dropped by at Holy Rosary Academy to return something to a former co-teacher. On the way back home, there was a tarpaulin that caught my attention. It was for a deceased man. There was a blurred picture of a 20-something-year-old man, but what surprised me was the text beside the picture. It said, “blah blah blah who died at the age of 39.” Thirtyfuckinnine? The man in the picture didn’t look older than 22 or 23 at the most, but the dedication beside it clearly states that he died at the age of 39.
It made me sad, all of a sudden. But not because I felt for the man, of course not. I felt sad because I suddenly thought of his family going crazy looking for a picture to be put on the tarpaulin but only finding the crappy and old 20-something version of himself. They must’ve sighed and handed the picture with eyes closed, breaths held, and hoped against hope no one notices the unfeasible connection between the picture and the age written on the tarpaulin.
My condolences, really.
