Film, Photography, Music, and Literature by Joaquim Baeta

Robin Williams

To be honest, I'm not sure what I'm doing here. When I first started No. 0, the traditional function of a blog, to use it as an online diary, was the function I thought it would play. That didn't happen. Over time, it developed into what it is now—whatever it is. Anyway, I haven't used No. 0 as an outlet to vent on a truly personal level in a long time. I haven't really exposed my vulnerability since "Quit", I want to say, although if I were being truthful, it would be since "New Editor's Note". So, I don't know why I'm reshaping No. 0 to make it do something it hasn't done in years. I don't know why I feel this compulsion, other than because I just feel the need to say something, even though I'm not yet sure what it is I want to say or how I'm supposed to make those words presentable in this mental state.

I am in tears. Because Robin Williams is dead. And I hate it.

I try to be cynical and detached about death. I consider, that is the way of this anthropocentric TV show called Life. Characters are killed off. Replacements are hired. Sometimes the actors want too much out of this show. Sometimes they're just bad at it and get fired. And for the most part, I succeed at not beating myself up over the characters who had a good run. It's the ones who don't get a fair shot that are the true tragedies, not those who decide to spoil theirs or those who decide to quit after a successful stint. But then, there are characters whom we truly love. Funny, thoughtful, and brilliant individuals, whom we dread to lose, no matter how long they've been around.

I don't want him to be gone. I don't want to believe it. I want this to be a joke.

But just as I am selfishly writing about how this affects me rather than how it impacts the man who died and the people he loved, I will eventually—inevitably—come to terms with this and reflect on the life and works of a genius. Right now, I can only feel empty and mourn and wish it wasn't so and regret what could have been and cry.

But I can also come to understand, so many words later, why I feel the compulsion to write this. The truth is, only a special person would affect me in this way.

Robin played the profound role in my life of teaching me it was okay to be crazy.  In this space, I can only thank him for that, and hope that he rests in peace.

End.

1 comment:

  1. Upon reflection, the TV show reference probably doesn't make sense. So, I will share a story that gave it some meaning as I was writing it.

    Midway through writing it, I heard a knock on the door. It was the mailman delivering a pair of packages, the contents of which I'd procured a few weeks ago. These packages were gifts for my fiancée, intended as a surprise when they arrived. Everyday since they were sent, I envisioned the moment they would finally arrive: filled with endless smiles, a few tears, and lots of love. It would be a special day.

    Now, they await her, but the tears aren't those I expected, and the smiles won't be those I envisioned. In Life, plot waits for no character.

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