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The Suffering, The Dukkha


As I type this I sniff smoke from my father cigerrette. That's how powerful and addicting it is. After this unforgetable event you would think my dad would never smoke again. I could not imagine how these people of the tobacco industry could sleep at night. .
             I had anger towards the officer who did not do his job properly. Towards the town who did not properly train him. I once heard the officer knew people within. This would lead me to believe he got assistance to get his job. The biggest problem I had was that this could easily happen again. He did not loose his job and who knows how often this occurs in other towns. I now can relate on experience with the tension and anger of the minorities with cops in the city. To think if he did his job my mom might be making me lunch right now laughing at my silly jokes. I would be typing a report on someone elses suffering rather then mine.
             I had some guilt. The guilt formed due to me asking myself some obvious questions. Such as: "I should have been there," or "why didn't I do more to stop her smoking". These questions burned inside me many times. But I was prepared for bad days like this. So this quilt was not as bad as it could have been. When my mom was smoking I always said to my self "do what ever it takes to help her and stop her from smoking". My thinking was done in a strategically way. I pictured myself in a hospital with my mom or dad being ill and feeling the quilt. I stopped buying cigerrettes for them long before her death. I always threw out ashtrays and packs of cigerrettes. I would talk to them and give them support. .
             I had much stress. Thinking of the famous phrase "Why me!" did not do me any good. Thinking of all good things the fall had to offer. I thought it was all stolen away from me. Hearing my father cough up pieces of lung in the sink as I type creates much stress. Thinking suffering is coming its way soon. I will never forget my mom's funeral.


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