Are you afraid of death? Do you not want to die? How is it knowing you’re going to die someday? What if you knew when you were going to die?
To answer my questions myself – no, I am not afraid of death. At least not death as a concept. Sure, I don’t want to die in a slow, painful way. I’d prefer the quick, instantaneous types where I don’t even realise its pack up time…
I don’t not want to die. I don’t not want to live either. I know death is inevitable. As mum always reminds me, the time for each one to be born, to marry and to die is fixed. Your time of demise is finalised the very second you’re born. So, I am aware its going to happen, and as I have no regrets in life, I don’t mind saying goodbye when the time comes… Frankly, I don’t know if I will be ready when it actually happens or if all my wishes will have been fulfilled leaving me content and happy. But I do know that I won’t curse god or beg to live. I’ll accept it gracefully.
If I knew when I was going to die, I’d definitely freak out a little and mark it on my calendar!
Before the destined hour, I would make all the telephone calls, visits and donations that I need to make, and joyfully tell everyone that I love them. I’ll thank them for making my living moments cheerful, memorable ones and I’ll also ask for forgiveness if I’ve intentionally or unintentionally hurt them. And last but not the least, I’ll tell them I’m going away forever and not to miss me too much. And hey, don’t not miss me either :-)
It is one thing to wait for it in its own sweet time, and entirely another to see it coming, with as much certainty as night follows day. I speculated whether I would jump into the sea and just stop swimming, letting the waves take me where they may and finally drown me when they were done playing.
I had no answer then. The answer fails me now too.
But I do know this. If I ever happen to be disabled beyond repair or hospitalised for life, I don’t want that life. Please kill me. Euthanasia might be a crime. But I cannot expose myself to pain and others to inconvenience for a few hours / days / weeks of laboured breathing. I will not have needles stuck into me, so what if the absence thereof cuts short my life by a few months? I’d rather live a short, healthy, independent life with respect than a lengthy one that is a trouble for me and others alike.
Oh, and make sure my eyes are donated. I want someone to be able to see. To understand what colours are, to know what beauty is, to watch playful puppies and the sultry sunrise... to feel blessed…
Just like what I felt when I looked outta the window that night in my house…
