APA style: 'Pulvis et umbra sumus' Horace in Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises.'Pulvis et umbra sumus' Horace in Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises." Retrieved from
#Umbra et pulvis sumus free#
MLA style: "'Pulvis et umbra sumus' Horace in Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises." The Free Library.We miss you too…”īefore I leave, I wave goodbye to the seagulls. My grandpa didn’t laugh with me this time. “And what if that’s Grandma?” I pointed to the seagull with excitement, “And she came to visit us because she misses us! Hi Grandma! We miss you!” I waved at the bird. I thought it looked beautiful, the way it coasted effortlessly on the wind. We both laughed at the impossible scenario. He chuckled, then said, “How funny would it be if one day I died, and then I came back reincarnated as your grandson! I would say, ‘Hey! Remember me? I used to be your grandpa! But now I’m small, and you’re so big!’”Īs a kid, I found the idea hilarious. But if you were good, you might come back as an eagle, or lion, or better yet, a human again!” If you lied a lot, you would be reborn a snake. If you acted like a pig, you would come back as a pig.
“They’re a group of people who believe that when you die, you come back as something else, and what you come back as depends on whether you were good or naughty in this life.
You know who the Buddhists are?” I told him I didn’t. He grinned, revealing a set of dull yellow teeth. My mother and father told me already, but I wanted to hear what the wise old man had to say. “Where do we go when we die?” I asked him abruptly. But I don’t remember what I wore that day… And though it was well-hidden, I knew there was a hole in the left pocket of his jacket because I had once tried it on as a joke. His wispy white hair was all over the place. Despite this formal attire, he looked disheveled. He was dressed in a brown suit and wore glasses. He trudged along carefully with his hands folded behind his back. I would walk too fast for him, and I would have to stop every so often to wait for him to catch up. We were walking along this same boardwalk. I remember a conversation I once had with my grandpa many, many years ago, when he and my childhood were still alive. They were enjoying the freedom of their wings together These birds do not care for any of the fish below. And that’s when I realize that this is not a mission for food, but a dance for nothing else other than pleasure. It’s starting to look more like a game than a hunt. The two seagulls continue to circle above the ocean, occasionally diving but never plunging into the water. The breeze feels cool against my recently shaved cheek. And so they go on in this cycle of hesitation. The other follows its example: it dives and narrowly avoids contact with the water. One of the birds drops precipitously, but before it could wet its beak, reels back up, as though it were merely teasing at the idea. I lock my eyes on them and anticipate their dive into the ocean. There must be a good catch lurking below. Over the water, two seagulls are flying in circles. I lean on the railing and watch the waves roll lethargically up and down the sand. unfortunately it is the only original work i kept from that period of my life) ( this short prose work is the first piece I ever wrote when I was a teenager! it may not be the most well-written thing out there, but I’m still proud of it.
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