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Title: The Leftovers (2014–2017)
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Three years after the disappearance of two percent of the global population, a group of people in a small New York community try to continue their lives while coping with the tragedy of the unexplained nature of the event.
Well... Where do I start? I'm Cem, I live in a small town Babaeski, 200 miles west to Istanbul, Turkey. Forgive me for my english language, I'm still improving. I don't like writing reviews but I had to do it and it had to be this.
On a hot and sunny summer day, I started watching... this. Experience. Just like watching any other TV show, I grabbed my beer and chips, I leaned back and pressed the start button.
Then I couldn't stop. That beer was never finished. Chips gone stale. My mind just gone nuts, trying to comprehend the new reality, the new angle of vision of how I perceive life and death. The existence. Some episodes hit me so hard that I had to lock my room in case anyone enter and see me in tears. Never in my life have I cried with my chin trembling; even in most of the funerals I attended I ever gave a flinch.
I have made mistakes by recommending this masterpiece to everyone I know. Some of them hardly watched the first episode and got bored immediately.
Then I understood.
I understood that only those who can question their existence, their purpose; only those who seek a path to walk can apprehend what is going on in the story. So this show became my -sort of- bible, a sacred altar that hidden deep in my basement. I could only show this altar to those who are worthy. And not many people around me are worthy enough, I realized.
Surrounded by vast fields and lands, populated with a small-talk, small-do people, I felt alone. Got depressed about it. Got drunk, cried, started taking anti-depressants, recovered, found a dull job, watched TV again, went out with friends, got drunk, forgot all about it, forgot all about the show; at least I thought so.
Sometimes, when I'm happy, when everyone's happy and laughing and joking, I remember Nora. I remember Kevin. I remember Matt. My never-seen-in-my-life friends. Then that famous piano solo plays in my mind; like an echo coming from deep. I have an urge to reach them and hug them and tell them it's ok, you got this, everything will be all right. We are just specks of dust in this vast universe and we'll die as soon as we're born. We will not have all the answers we seek in this life. In this vast and scary universe, we only got each other. We only got who are still here. We only got who are left.
I have a beautiful girlfriend now; best imaginable. I'll marry her. She will always be with me till death. But that emptiness will always walk with me. I will not even mention this gap in my heart. This thought. This black stain that haunts me and keeps me up at night. We are in a scary universe and we are alone. Nobody will hold my hand when I die. Nobody will keep holding my hand when I walk the inevitable, cold, misty road. I'll be scared. God, what will I do when that time comes? A speck of dust like me, what importance I have anyway. I live and I die. I'll become a tombstone in this world, catching somebody's eyes in a year or so, for a moment, and forgotten eternally.
This is heavy. I don't know if this knowledge; this realisation, this "upper consciousness" is a blessing or a curse. Now that I'm "aware", I value every second of my life. Never I got bored since I realized how little time we got left. No matter how dull is my job, I have cared for everyone and everything that needed my attention and my help. I gave more than I take for myself granted. I 'll continue to help and bring joy to everyone I can reach.
But that black stain, that scary monster waiting in the shadows, the void stare in the mirror, the echoing solo coming from underground, two begging eyes, the hopeless me will be kept as a secret till I die.