This morning as we were walking to the car to get to school, we heard a short burst of siren nearby, very nearby. At first we thought it was someone's car alarm but we then saw a police truck driving past us. I noticed through the open back of the truck that it contained a black body bag on a gurney. Eugene and I exchanged suspicious looks.
A few hours later, Eugene messaged me with the info that what we saw was apparently the remains of an Indonesian maid from the 17th floor of my apartment block. He got the info from his colleague who also stays at the same place as us. Whether it was suicide, foul play or an accident, we don't know.
What I know is that someone in Indonesia has lost their daughter, sister, or wife if she was married, and mother if she had kids. Life is precious, life is fragile. Echoing my post preceding this one, when our lives are dissected to see what matters most, we will realise that it's the things money cannot buy that matters most.
I'm glad I'm alive when who knows, I could have easily been just like that Indonesian maid or any other person who lost his or her life due to whatever circumstance. Only God knows when my time is up.
Is this post a result of a tired mind or a person approaching mid life? Ha ha, I'm truly confused!
Maybe I should make this my theme song come Christmas eve when I have officially lived four decades.