A moment, please

My yearly breaking of the fast should always be a happy and celebratory occasion because oftentimes, unfortunately, Easter Mass just isn’t that inspiring. I think my priest, God bless him, should lighten up and stop whinging. Stop being so negative.

It’s Easter. I need to be inspired.

It’s important that I remember, as I’m watching the late Pope John Paul II struggle with his last Easter message, that it is Easter, and not Christmas, that is the most important season of my faith. Christmas has the glitz. And Christmas is the one that’s placed smack bang in the holiday season. But it is Easter, however awkwardly it may be placed in the calendar year, that tells of the very crux of our faith. To use Shakespeare as an analogy, Christmas would be something nice and fluffy like A midsummer night’s dream while Easter would be the infinitely more complex, and ultimately more important, Hamlet.

The Pope knew this, I assume. And it’s a pity that the last image of him that I will remember is him struggling to speak, with a friggin’ tube in his neck, trying to deliver a message to the people whom he has sworn to lead, on the most important day of his faith’s calendar. It’s an image that’s made all the more indelible since it’s pretty close to every other image of him for the past few years.

Thing is, I’ve wanted him to step down all this time. Watching him in recent years has been painful. And selfishly I thought the church might be better served by a leader in better physical shape.

So while I feel sad that he’s passed on in life, I sigh with relief that it’s finally over. And I’m cautiously hopeful for the future of the church.

If the church was the Easter season, this would be Good Friday.

And Easter’s coming.

I had a whole big thing that I wanted to write for Easter but I got sick. Really sick. Bed-ridden for two days. Then a week of mild to moderate discomfort.

So this weekend, in trying to fully recover, I have been staying home and spending ridiculous amounts of time with the only new Star Wars sequel I care about – Knights of the Old Republic II. I am living on the plains of Dantooine, breathing the industrial air of Nar Shaddaa, and even dreaming the hum and whir within the hull of the Ebon Hawk.

If you don’t have a clue what I’m talking about, ignore me. I’m just being geeky. I’ve just been talking to way more computer generated persons than real persons in the last few days. Say I were to go on a date tomorrow, I might have situations like this.

Date: Are you feeling better? You don’t look pale like you did last week.
Me: I feel the glow of the Force sustaining my life energies.

Date: I’m glad we’ve been spending time together. I feel like we’re developing a bond.
Me: The Force binds all living creatures together.

Date: I’m sorry I came late tonight. Bloody trains never come on time!
Me: Watch your anger. Such strong emotions often lead down the path of the dark side.

In the game I am this bald Asiatic guy with a goatee (not too far from real life) and in my Jedi robes I resemble something like a try-hard rapper. But still, I have this blind psychic hottie, a platinum blonde Echani warrior who keeps stripping down to her underwear when I ask to spar with her, and a spunky young bounty hunter all after a piece of my fine pixelated ass!

I figure I’m doing better here than in real life.

Rock and roll.

And I know I’ve played down the death of the Pope. But it’s been the news of the day. It’ll be in the news for weeks to come. So what more can I say?