Last Saturday I went alone to see the movie “Annihilation”. It’s fantastic. Suspense, horror, love, fiction all packed into this one movie.

 

It mentions a theory about getting old and die. We are all made up with cells, trillions of them. Cells divide when our genes tell them to. However, genes make mistakes.

 

Sometimes a gene would tell a cell to divide when there is no reason for it to divide, which would lead to the cancer. But in most cases, genes just don’t tell the cells to divide when they really should.

 

That’s why we can’t stay young. Theoretically, if genes stop making mistakes, we neither grow old nor die.

 

Perhaps there is self-destruction stored in our genes, so they keep making mistakes no matter what.

 

Such self-destruction also mirrors in our daily activities. We drink, we smoke, we screw a good job, we ruin great relationships, we marry the wrong person, and we burden our lives with self-inflicted worries and unnecessary fears. In one way or another we all head into self-destruction.

 

In this movie, self-destruction (Annihilation or Silver) is presented in the most thrilling beauty.

 

Perhaps it is true. There is a moment in life you would feel so like breaking things—breaking every single item around you.

 

Last night at home, my son kept whining about one more ice-cream, which I’d refused. He started to act like a spoiled child, taking noncooperation strategy to almost everything.

 

Suddenly, a sharp sensation of pains came over. My body started to shiver, my stomach turned over, and my head hurt like hell. I didn’t need to look at the mirror to know that my face must turn deadly pale.

 

My son stopped complaining, he asked me hesitantly: Mum, are you all right?”

 

I was not Okay, in many possible ways. Despite pains penetrating my body, I felt so overwhelming with despair and angry.

 

“I’m all right”, I heard myself saying, but my voice was twisted and faraway, “Go to the bed.”

 

Grabbed a garbage bag, I rushed out of home. I was going to throw up.

 

As soon as I arrived trash bin, I threw up everything in my stomach. It’s dark outside. It took me a few more minutes to stable myself.

 

That’s one of the darkest moments in my life. I knew there might be something wrong with my body. But it’s the state of my mind that I’d concerned more.  

 

Dark energy, the very negative one, seemed to be materialized, surrounding me, taking all the air away.

 

The few minutes it took to back home, felt like an eternity.

My son, in pajamas, underwear and bare feet, appeared as soon as I opened the door. “Mum, are you Okay?” he asked.

At that moment, I want to cry. But I struggled to hold back my tears and said: “Don’t worry. I am fine. Go back to sleep.” 

I was not fine. But I had to be fine, in every possible means.