I had already thought that nothing bad came from Covid and that it was and is and will be just a passing thing and that no permanent damage came or comes or will come of it and that things will soon get back to normal as if the pandemic had never happened -
then I found out that Kim Ki-duk has died, last December, from Covid complications.
FUCK!
And to think - at the time of his death, I was enjoying my Christmas holiday, probably walking around the little lake in my neighborhood, thinking how amazing life is and how I love Christmas and how everything is so nostalgic in December.
I don't mean to say that death is wrong, or that I suffered some deeply personal loss with his passing. But he was my favorite director. Time is one of my all-time favorite movies. Moebius is insanely funny.
So I guess I was hoping he would continue to make awesome movies for me to watch. And now he won't. It's okay, though. I mean, Dostoevsky was the same age as Kim when he died, and while I often wish he had lived longer and so had the time to write more stories, I have no way of knowing that he would or could have. Dying prematurely might even contribute to the legend.
What I'm trying to say is that you can always work with what you're given. Dwelling on the thoughts of wishing for something that isn't going to happen will hardly help. In a way, being reminded that even the great are physically mortal can be a good kick in the butt to make something out of yourself - before it's too late.
And also to eat more Häagen-Dazs. Before it's too late.
RK
P.S. The downside of not following the news: I found out about Kim over four months after the event. While it makes no practical difference when I get the news, it's somehow safer and less surprising to find out right away. (Such a contradiction though.)
