To be honest, I haven’t given death much thought until earlier these past months. Before then, I had foolishly undergone my days, had foolishly been so sure of waking up the very next day.
So, why now? If I am still considered fit to ask myself that question. The answer is simple and quite widely known — Guilt. Fear. A mixture of those that come after. I don’t know why it took me such a long time to finally hold on to them. I guess I already had, in some point in my life. I even remember how it had changed my life then for some time. Though, I forgot about it not long after. There is no wonder why.
Now, so many unthinkable tragedies have befallen the world and its people, from people I barely know, to people I know most closely. Strangers, friends, family. On the news, from word of mouth. The saddening news had circulated my mind so often, that they had even eventually crawled its way into my dreams. The most dreadful one yet was the one I had a couple weeks back, which awoken a feeling inside me to write this. I am inclined to tell you about it.
The nightmare took place in my house. But, it wasn’t exactly my house. To explain it as shambles is one way to put it. I’m not trying to over-explain things, but the house had blood splattered and holes due to bullets on the walls. Dirt on the floors and all kinds of other worse situations my brain could muster. Even so, the house was packed with people, making it its own war zone. The way dreams are, the house would at times change and give illusions of looking bigger and maze-ier. I was holding a rifle in my hands, unexpectedly skillfully using it. I got hit, along with the other people in the house. Well, now that I think of it, I’m quite bewildered by the fact that I had such a dream, so please just bear with me until the end. Perhaps it was due to my recent watches of ‘Sweet Home’ and ‘Alice in Borderland’, that it included such violence… What kind of survival game my brain had conjured up, I had no idea. I simply remembered how I was set up to not being able to leave the house, oddly knowing I wouldn’t survive outside either. Nonetheless, I still made my way to the very front door of my house, the porch door. There, I was eventually hit by someone, right when I had almost managed to open the door. Although shot multiple times on the body, I didn’t die immediately. I slumped to the floor, dragged myself outside through the porch door and sat in front of it, knowing I was going to die, counting the seconds left. What a horrible way to die, not dying instantly, feeling the pain eat you away until nothing is left. But… what even is the ideal way to die? Then and there, I felt the tension slowly leaving my body as I sat by the porch door.
I woke up crying that morning.
Even now, I couldn’t bring myself to not imagine that scene every time I see the porch door, awake. Oddly, I rarely remember dreams. But I happen to remember this one dream.
To this day, death is still on my mind. I could break down crying just thinking of it for a couple of minutes. Every night, I fear I might not wake up. Or worse, I fear I might not see my loved ones wake up. Sometimes, when they are asleep, I lean in closely to check whether I can still feel their breath. Even now, when I am writing this in the car. I think of the unthinkable, that another car might just crash into us without us seeing it coming. Even a couple days ago, when we, as a family, accompanied my brother to the airport. Teary eyes greeted me as I thought of how this moment could be our last time seeing him. The recent sad news about the plane crash was not helping at all.
I fear it. I hate the feeling of being in fear. It does not feel like a good way to live. But, a part of me believes it is keeping me alive. It is keeping me vigilant for them, keeping my worries close to me, and consequently keeping my love for them alive.
When I stare aimlessly at them with nothing on my mind, that certain thought will sadly reveal itself.
I am selfish enought to not want them to leave before me. But, I cannot bring myself to think of me leaving before them either. A world without them is unimaginable. Still, there I am again, being foolish. I have seen a relative break down because of a lost loved one, have known friends who have lost their closest families. Recalling it now, it must be hard for them. How they are still able to stand up strong to this day, I do not know.
Fearing death, I too, consequently fear the end of the world. The day of reckoning. Qiyamah. With all the kiamat kubra we see in the world today, how much time do we have left? We constantly talk about our dream jobs and what we want to do in 20 years from now, when we retire, and so on. I sometimes bring myself to think I might not reach old age, might not have the opportunity to marry, might not have my parents see their grandchildren.
Then comes the question, will I be alive in this world until the world ends or will I leave this world before it ends? And so which am I going to be more grateful for? I am yet to find the answer to that question. Who will leave first…
I fear that I might forget. I’m writing to remember this feeling. Why is it that I, or humans, if I may be so bold, tend to belittle or even forget death? We are only reminded of it when tragedies happen around us. Even worse, only reminded when those dear to us experience it. The pain that follows must be unimaginable. But, am I allowed to say that it is necessary? Necessary that we must be reminded? After all, we are merely mortals in this world.
a.k.a.
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Written in 2020.
