Just another essay I had written on the question of life and death. Enjoy!!!
Dark, uncomfortable thought entered my mind. It was not earth shattering thought, or the end of the world kind of thought. Nor it was personal or a cry out for help of sort at all. Nonetheless, it was a thought of being just another human being. I bet at least once in our lifetime that most of us have thought of death. Yes, this word, death, isn’t everyone’s favorite word. It’s a mother of all disgusted kind of words since who would want to leave life for death unless one is very troubled within. Nonetheless, since the dawn of human time, who had ever escaped death? Sure, there were legends that some beings had escaped death through various means; resurrection as one example of such means… but really? Instead of believing a fairy tale, we know very well that if we aren’t the stuffs of a legend we are sure to have an expired date for each and everyone of us. The expired dates for all of us won’t be the same, but nonetheless they are ticking down regardless… till time will really run out and that’s that for us being a human. It’s not like time will run out for the world, but time sure will run out for each of us as our specific expired date counts toward that expiration. An expiration of being a human, and what comes after would be death. A cold corpse that lies underneath the soil, rotten away as the bugs gnaw at the corpse’s once precious, silky, smooth skin. Everything would be rotten in the end.
I know not how a story would end for you or me. Nonetheless, I do know that all of our stories would have an ending. It’s unavoidable that there was preordained end to a story of being me or you, but how such a preordained ending would turn out is not something you and I would know unless you or I — are/am is arrogantly enough to think writing our own story is just a trivial task. Not to belittle your arrogant spirit or my own, the truth is that writing one’s own story is easy to be said than done. Just for an example, one would thought that one could carry out a morning routine as planned, but there would always be something that would slightly steer a morning routine off course. Only the lucky fews could be arrogantly guessed right how their story would unfold till the very end. Would that be fun for such lucky fews? I do not know, but would you want to know how your story would unfold to the very end?
Some people’s endings could be laughable with laughters, not to mock but to reminisce the good old time. Some people’s endings were meant to be celebrated in silence for they were respectable ones who had lived among us. Some people’s endings were so terrible that their endings deserved to be forgotten forever and never to be spoken again from anyone’s tongue, but such endings could never be forgotten since they were too terrible to be locked away. How Hitler had killed himself on his last day, well at least that was what I had learned of his ending, deserved to be retold, again and again, as a lesson for newer generations to learn that being ruthless dictatorship might deserve a very bad ending.
I do not know how yours or mine would unfold, but I do know each of us will have an ending to be told. How do you like your to be told? How do I like mine to be told? To be honest, I like to imagine my own ending will be a joyous, respectable, and glorious one, but as the story goes, one can never know where the rabbit hole ends or how deep it is… one just has to go through it to know what lays at the end. Alice would know?