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November 24, 2024
Leo Tolstoy wote: “The biggest surprise in a man’s life is that old age sneaks up on
him so suddenly, leaving him unprepared for its profound reality.
Aging is a curious and humbling process. At 68 years old, I find myself
confronted with all the undeniable signs that my body is changing, slowing down, and, at times,
failing in ways I never imagined when I was younger. Last night, I wet my bed despite wearing a
diaper. It wasn’t just a little accident either—the whole bed was soaked, the mattress beyond saving.
Today, I’ll need to replace it, a necessary task that feels symbolic of something more profound. Of
course, this is undeniably disheartening, but it also strikes me as comedic in a way—dark, but comedy,
nonetheless. It mirrors the very themes of the book I wrote a few years ago, Divine Comedy.
What a strange thing aging is! There is an unmistakable circularity to it all. We start in this world as
helpless infants, dependent on others for our every need, often unable to control our bodies. Then,
we grow, mature, and gain independence, and for a time, we may even revel in the peak of our
strength and capabilities. But eventually, we begin to slip back into a state of dependence and
vulnerability. Is this a return to the state from which we began? It almost feels as if we grow into
ourselves only to become children again—babies at the start and babies once more at the end.
There is something darkly humorous about this relentless cycle, as if life reminds us not to take it
too seriously.
I can’t help but wonder, is this the cycle of life? As a scientist, I am conditioned to observe, learn, and
draw meaning from patterns. And this aging pattern—of rising to a zenith of physical and mental
prowess only to fall back into fragility—seems inescapable. In the microcosm of our individual lives,
it may feel frustrating, even tragic at times, but in the larger scheme, could it be part of some grand
cosmic joke? Perhaps, like Dante's Divine Comedy, life is a journey through darkness,
absurdity, and humor, leading us toward some ultimate realization.
The reality of aging is undeniably harsh. There are days when the decline feels like a betrayal—
when the body, once solid and reliable, now rebels with indignities like wetting the bed in the
middle of the night. The amount of urine that poured from me last night startled me as if my body no longer
answered my will. How ironic that after decades of control, discipline, and mastery over A,
I should find myself undone by something so simple as my bladder. It’s a reminder that, in the
end, none of us is truly in control.
But what if we shift our perspective? What if we see these moments not as mere failures or
sources of shame but as part of a broader comedy, a play in which we all have our part to
perform? Laughter may not be the first response to aging’s challenges, but I believe it has
its place. The way the universe works—the unexpected twists, the moments of absurdity—
it all feels like a dark comedy, scripted by something greater than us, something that finds humor
in our very human frailties. And why shouldn’t it? After all, our lives are filled with contradictions,
with moments that make us shake our heads in disbelief at the sheer unpredictability of it all.
Life’s stages are cyclical. We emerge into this world dependent, needing to be cared for. In the middle,
we flourish—our prime years are marked by independence, creativity, and strength. Then, as we age,
we find ourselves returning to a kind of dependence, facing the same frailties we experienced at t
he beginning of life. And perhaps it’s in this circularity that we find the hidden comedy.
The inevitability of it all could be unfortunate, but a certain absurdity forces us to laugh, even if
the laughter is tinged with sorrow.
I choose to see my current experiences not just as defeats but as part of the divine
comedy of life. They are humbling reminders that we are never truly separate from the
vulnerabilities that make us human. My body is failing in ways I never expected, but
this decline is strangely poetic. It is as if the universe, in her infinite wisdom, is reminding
me not to take myself too seriously. After all, in the grand scheme of things, what are
we but actors in this cosmic play?
Aging, then, is not just a tragedy—it is also a comedy. It's a dark one, yes, but a comedy,
nonetheless. It’s an unfolding drama where each of us plays our part, and in the end, perhaps
all we can do is smile, shrug, and accept the absurdity of it all. The bed-wetting, the diapers,
the replaced mattresses—they are all part of the script. I can either resist it, feel sorrow and
despair, embrace it, laugh, and continue observing this strange life
cycle. Because if life truly is a divine comedy, I intend to play my part with humor, grace,
and perhaps even a sense of wonder.
Sabri Bebawi
November 25, 2024
THE SEASON
Today is a symphony of nature's beauty and the season's magic. The sky
is a canvas of wonder, with clouds shaped like ethereal beings drifting gracefully, their
forms evoking both mystery and peace. Below, the trees sway in rhythm with the playful
wind, their branches dancing like joyful companions to the melody of the day. The bay's
water mirrors this harmony, calm yet alive, moving in a gentle, mesmerizing dance.
Adding to the enchantment are the Christmas trees placed in the middle of the bay,
their shimmering ornaments and twinkling lights casting reflections across the water,
filling the air with the warm and festive spirit of the season. It feels as if the universe
herself is celebrating the joy and unity of this time of year.
I can't help but reflect on life and all the days and years that have passed, leaving
behind only joyful memories of moments that can never be repeated. Each one feels
like a fleeting treasure, etched in the heart, reminding me of the beauty in the ephemeral
nature of time.
Sabri Bebawi
LONGING
I Miss Planet Earth
A t 68 years old, I find myself grappling with a profound sense of dislocation, as
if I've been transported to a different planet. It’s unsettling feeling, this dissonance
between the world I remember and the one I see now.
The sense of alienation I experience is not just about personal disorientation but also
a deep-seated disquiet over the state of affairs in our society. I find myself confronted
daily by a deluge of corruption, immorality, and unchecked greed that seems to permeate
almost every corner of our lives. The ethical fabric that once seemed so firm and reliable
appears to be fraying, and the values I held dear seem to be eroding before my eyes.
The political climate, in particular, is something I’ve never encountered before. The intense
polarization, the erosion of civil discourse, and the relentless pursuit of power feel like a stark
departure from the more measured and principled debates of the past. It’s as though the
very mechanisms of governance and civic engagement have been transformed into something
almost unrecognizable.
In this tumultuous environment, I find myself yearning for a simpler time—a time that feels
increasingly distant. I miss what I think of as “planet Earth,” a place where integrity, empathy,
and shared values held more sway. It’s not just nostalgia for the past but a deep longing for
a sense of coherence and moral clarity that seems to have slipped through our collective fingers.
This sense of being out of place is compounded by the speed at which change is occurring.
Technology, globalization, and shifting social norms have accelerated changes in ways that
are both exhilarating and disorienting. While progress in these areas can be positive, the rapid
pace and the accompanying disruptions often leave me feeling like a spectator on the sidelines,
struggling to make sense of a world that moves too quickly for me to grasp fully.
So here I am, navigating this new reality, trying to reconcile the person I was with the world I
now inhabit. It’s a challenging journey, filled with moments of reflection and occasional
melancholy. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever feel at home again, or if I must come to terms
with the fact that the world has irrevocably shifted—and I must find my way in this new world,
even if it feels like I’m walking on a different planet. I miss planet Earth.
I Miss Planet Earth
At 68 years old, I find myself grappling with a profound sense of dislocation, as if I've been
transported to a different planet. It’s a curious and unsettling feeling, this dissonance between
the world I remember and the one I see now. Sometimes, I wonder whether it's me who has
changed or if the world around me has undergone a radical transformation.
The sense of alienation I experience is not just about personal disorientation but also a deep-seated
disquiet over the state of affairs in our society. I find myself confronted daily by a deluge of corruption,
immorality, and unchecked greed that seems to permeate almost every corner of our lives. The ethical
fabric that once seemed so firm and reliable appears to be fraying, and the values I held dear seem to
be eroding before my eyes.
The political climate, in particular, is something I’ve never encountered before. The intense
polarization, the erosion of civil discourse, and the relentless pursuit of power at any cost feel like a
stark departure from the more measured and principled debates of the past. It’s as though the
very mechanisms of governance and civic engagement have been transformed into something
almost unrecognizable, and the rhetoric that fills the airwaves often seems disconnected from
the realities of most people's lives.
In this tumultuous environment, I find myself yearning for a simpler time—a time that feels
increasingly distant. I miss what I think of as “planet Earth,” a place where integrity, empathy,
and shared values held more sway. It’s not just nostalgia for the past but a deep longing for a
sense of coherence and moral clarity that seems to have slipped through our collective fingers.
This sense of being out of place is compounded by the speed at which change is occurring.
Technology, globalization, and shifting social norms have accelerated changes in ways that
are both exhilarating and disorienting. While progress in these areas can be positive, the
rapid pace and the accompanying disruptions often leave me feeling like a spectator on the
sidelines, struggling to make sense of a world that moves too quickly for me to grasp fully.
So here I am, navigating this new reality, trying to reconcile the person I was with the world I
now inhabit. It’s a challenging journey, filled with moments of reflection and occasional melancholy.
I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever feel at home again, or if I must come to terms with the fact
that the world has irrevocably shifted—and I must find my way in this brave new world, even
if it feels like I’m walking on a different planet. I miss planet Earth.
THERE IS HUMOR IN AGING
I have always made it a point to embrace the positive side of life, even when
faced with challenges. This mindset has been especially meaningful as I navigate
the changes that come with aging, including the gradual decline of my memory.
Surprisingly, this shift has brought an unexpected joy into my life.
Take watching movies, for instance. Films that I’ve seen countless times before now feel
completely new to me. When I sit down to watch, it’s as though I’m experiencing the story
for the very first time. I have no recollection of the actors, the plot twists, or the most memorable
scenes, which turns each viewing into a delightful discovery. What might seem like a loss to some
has become a unique way for me to find pleasure in the familiar, allowing me to relive these
moments with a sense of wonder and curiosity. It’s a reminder that even in the face of change,
beauty and joy can be found in unexpected places.
LIFE IS SURELY A COMEDY
I have a habit of forgetting things, whether it’s my glasses, umbrella, shoulder bag, or keys. It’s a
common human trait, something most of us can relate to. What sets me apart, perhaps,
is the unique twist my forgetfulness sometimes takes. Since I’ve never learned to cook, I
often dine out at restaurants. And while forgetting a credit card, glasses, or keys at home is
frustrating, it’s nothing out of the ordinary.
But then there’s the peculiar and somewhat mortifying pattern I’ve experienced not once,
but three times. I’d go to a restaurant, settle into my seat, and order a drink. With the menu
in hand, I’d feel a wave of relief, thankful I hadn’t forgotten my glasses for reading it. That
moment of triumph would soon give way to a sudden realization: I had forgotten my dentures.
In those moments, embarrassment washes over me as I summon the courage to
explain to the server, “I’m so sorry, but I forgot my dentures.” There’s no meal to enjoy,
just an apologetic smile and a swift conclusion to my outing. I pay for my drink, call a
taxi to return home, and chuckle at the irony of the situation—a personal rendition of life’s little comedies.