my friend Nasser

Inevitably I think of my friend Nasser who died of cancer a year ago.  He lived with his wife and two daughters on the next street from us in London.  He was an academic like me, my age, his youngest daughter was in the same class as Beata.  I used to meet up with him in the park when he went bike riding with his kids. They were all such good pals, Nasser and his kids.  There is absolutely no reason why he died and I go on living.   I’m not better than him, not more lucky, not more loved by my family and friends.

Sometimes I have my doubts regarding the value of it all — this “life” stuff that us humans keep on perpetuating on each other. Sometimes I feel guilty for passing it on to so many children. The fear and the risks of living, and the terror of death.


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