The Truth About Death.

The current mood at home, made me want to put my feelings, or rather, lack of feelings into words. In the past 4 years, a significant number of deaths have occurred in my family, and currently, an aunt(My mother’s sister) of mine is terminally ill of sorts. Now, the normal reaction these statements would garner are sympathy, and in rare cases, the label, “Attention seeker.” And the normal reaction expected of me, would be; utter disbelief, sadness, worry, angst and perhaps even anger. However, I felt none of these. It’s not easy to be understood in a world built on values and norms; In a world where grieving one’s death is normal; In a world and in a family where I’m always expected to feel upset over someone’s death. For instance, I’ve been ‘shut up’ before, simply because I wasn’t sympathetic or empathetic when a family member died recently. But I cannot help feeling the way I do. My feelings are my own to feel, and nothing can change that. And this post is about how I feel about death, life and everything in between.

I’ve been brought up, knowing people die, especially when they’re old. Nevertheless, people die. People die in all kinds of ways. They die eating, they die in their sleep, hell, they even die standing. People die. Hard fact, but it’s the truth. Unfortunately, as a child, I’ve felt everything I could ever feel about death. I feared it. I hated that it could take people I love, away. At one point, I craved it. And finally, I accepted it. 7th grade was the first time I was exposed to the death of a person I held very dear to my heart. My grandmother. She was a cheerful, small lady, who loved every family member of hers with all her heart. She was a jolly woman and lived a long life of 94 years. I wasn’t oblivious to the fact that she was nearing her death, what with her being 94. Hence when the day came, where she was very ill and her heart was giving out, I had already known that these breaths, could be her very last. When the day finally came, where she was no more, I didn’t shed a single tear. My mother however assumed I was going to self harm or kill myself because she thought I wasn’t mature enough to handle the news of a loved one’s death. But that’s where she was wrong. I didn’t think or feel anything when I heard she had passed. The one thought that ran through my mind was, “Well, everyone dies. She was 94 so it wasn’t unexpected. I loved her. But now, the inevitable has come to be. And I’m fine with that. I don’t understand why people don’t understand that I’m never going to be affected by this.”

Nobody ever understood how I felt. They always thought; I was a kid and didn’t understand what was going on; And that later, it might hit me like a truck and suddenly I’ll be bent-double, crying my heart out. It’s been years, and I’ve never thought in any other way about her death. No I’m not being insensitive. I just don’t feel that way. Death after death, the creature followed the members of my family. Perhaps secretly looming around in their shadows. And again, the same thoughts run through my mind, “Everyone dies. I loved them. But  my love can’t keep them alive, because death is inevitable, And I can’t change that. I will die, everyone I know will die. But this isn’t for me to control and I’m okay with that.”

My aunt, who is currently ill, was born with a birth defect, Spina Bifida. She was born, back when technology wasn’t really at it’s best in this country hence the complications that followed were not only brutal, but they were expected. Her kidneys recently gave out, she cannot walk and many other such issues persist, ever since she was born.  These recent events are no surprise, and are definitely unfortunate, but like I said, not unexpected. Such views, of rationality and lack of empathy were not welcomed. But all this only made me question, why do we try so hard to keep others alive? Why do we try to keep them alive when they are going through so much pain, to lead their life which has now been extended? Why do we cling on to life, when we know of our pain? And finally, why do we insist on keeping them alive, when doing so is extraordinarily tough? She has 3 dialysis sessions a week, multiple surgeries in a week, a test every day, why do we try to live with such pain? I never understood and I still can’t understand. No, it isn’t my place to decide who dies or who doesn’t, I’m only trying to understand, but no one deserves that amount of pain. No one deserves a life where their family(Not I, but a few members), behind their back, finds them as a stressor, another load to carry on their shoulders. Of course they love her, which is why they try and keep her alive(aside from the fact that she’d like to live)but there are new complications popping up every day or every week and one can only take so much. All this leads me to think— Us humans are truly fascinating creatures with a strong survival instinct, for reasons unknown. Again, I’m not being insensitive and it isn’t that I do not care for her, I am like the daughter she never had because that is how much we had in common, but my thoughts always take over my being as I remember the obvious, “Everyone dies. I love her very much. But these could be her last few days, and that is alright, because death is inevitable.”

To me, there is no life without death; And there is no death without life. From what I remember about myself, when I was very young as compared to now, I always questioned anything and everything. No, I wasn’t stubborn where I’d question why I should follow my mum’s orders, but I questioned a lot. I would ask, who is god? Does he exist? Who decide what is bad and what is good? What truly is evil, or truly is good? What is life? Why was I born? I especially dwelled on the, ‘What is life, what is it’s point and why am I here?” question a lot. Upon continuous thinking/ contemplation during what I’d like to call my, ‘solitary time’ or ‘alone time’, or ‘me time’— I decided, there is no point to life. We didn’t come here with a purpose. We are here because that is how nature works. Evolution took place, and here we are, humans! Perhaps our sole purpose could be, balancing the food chain or help achieve ecological balance. But we’re too far into destruction to let that be our purpose. Us humans, have a well-developed brain with advanced cognitive functions, so we think, and are perceptual. We gave our lives meaning, the meanings differ from person to person, but nonetheless, gave our lives meaning. We brought about religions— a set of rules for us all to live in harmony. For us to live comfortably, not being of any inconvenience to others too. All this, maybe because nobody wants to live with the idea that the lives we lead are pointless, because then, a lot of the things in our world wouldn’t exist, and it is that intrinsic drive that I find so very beautiful. For if it wasn’t there, then life would be blatantly pointless.

For those who still do not understand why life, in my opinion, is pointless if we really think about it— it is, because regardless of what you do now, everything eventually leads to your death, and that’s it. No one knows about life after death or anything of that sort, but after a point(no pun intended), death is the eventual event. The finale. There is no happy ending, like at the end of a book where the author ends with a, “And they live happily ever after.” Because let’s face it, we don’t. We die. Morbid, but true. Hence, I find it hard to miss people when they die, or think twice about their death because that’s just how things go about. Death is inevitable, and I can’t change that. None of us can. However, with all that we have today, life is worth living for the wonders of the world, and death after satisfying the intrinsic drive is perhaps  anyone and everyone’s ultimate goal and hence the creation of ‘Bucket List’s. But the inconvenience of my thinking about life and the point of it all, as a friend once pointed out, is that I will always know that my life doesn’t necessarily have a true purpose. Maybe I’d leave a legacy behind, maybe not. Maybe I’ll have a huge impact on people, maybe not. But the true purpose of life, I will never believe in, yet I will enjoy this one life I’ve got for there is much to learn and discover, and I will welcome death when it is time.

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This post is simply my opinion, my views and my thoughts. I’m terrible at framing sentences but I gave it my best anyways. This post was not written to shit on people’s beliefs in god, religion, purpose of life etc. Feel free to disagree because, I respect people and their views and have nothing against it all. (Unless they’re homophobic, transphobic, racist, discriminatory, islamophobic etc. Then I have a real problem with them.)

these thoughts on the point of life, I’ve had even before being exposed to the philosophers and authors who preached existentialism, like Nietzsche. I guess reading more, HAS widened my view and perspective on everything though.

P.p.s. I did not proof read because I never do. Lethargy is my go-to mood anyways, so yeah. The redundancy is intentional. I was somehow trying to infuse poetry into this post because, why not?

Dear Future Lover,

To describe the perfect kind of love,

Would be cumbersome,

But I for one,

Am a hopeless romantic.

 

The perfect kind of love,

Is discovering cute little cafes,

Down the street,

‘Round the corner,

Discovering old libraries,

The smell of old books in the air,

And stacked on the shelves,

Would be novels and memories.

 

The perfect kind of love,

Is holding hands,

As we walk along the shore,

The waves of the sea,

Teasing our toes.

Trying to avoid the rain,

But getting wet anyway,

Because where’s the fun,

In missing out ,

On the little adventures,

That come our way?

 

The perfect kind of love,

Is when,

That comfortable silence settles,

As the two of us,

With a book in hand,

Sit on the couch,

In an apartment we share,

Because sometimes,

All we need is a little space,

To forget about the world around us,

Letting our minds wander,

To a distant place– A land, far far away.

 

The perfect kind of love,

Is when,

There are days,

Where we just lay,

On the bed we share,

Day to day,

Our limbs entangled,

Our breaths in sync,

Basking in all our lethargic glory,

This, I crave.

 

The perfect kind of love,

Is rambling to each other,

Of our mutual passions,

You, taking the words,

Right out of my mouth,

And I, yours,

Because that,

Is how in-sync we’d be.

But rambling to each other,

Of our varied passions,

You learning to love,

What you never did, before.

And I learning of,

What I never knew before,

Because that,

Is how out-of-sync we’re allowed to be.

Because that,

Is what the perfect love is about;

There will be differences,

There will be similarities,

There will be distances,

But the perfect love,

Is when we cross those distances,

The spaces between us close.

 

Because, the perfect kind of love,

Is when at the end of it all,

You’re still there,

Sitting at the table we share,

Across from me,

And we’re giving each other,

That reassuring smile,

For we know,

Our love?

Not a war,

Not a hurricane,

Not a single disaster can tear,

Our beautiful, beautiful love apart.

Distortion.

In a gallery, laced with white walls.

White walls decorated with squares of different sizes.

The squares of different sizes, with works of art enclosed in them.

Works of art, showing distorted faces.

The crowd stared at it. Contended, they smiled smiles, showing how emotionally linked they were to the pieces.

The artist, who stood distant from the crowd, smirked a knowing smirk. Of course everyone of them related to distorted faces.

The crowd, as expected by the artist, seemed reminiscent of all their flaws, be it mental or physical. Somehow, they all seemed so unsatisfied with some part of themselves as they stared at these paintings, as if someone acknowledged and accepted these flaws.

‘Society’. “‘Society’ is to blame!”, their minds yelled in unison. And with that, they went back to simply admiring the work.

The artist smiled pitifully at the crowd. His conscience ranting, going off about how, “It’s so very sad that today, they relate so well and find solace in art with distorted beings painted across the canvas. When they who gaze upon such work so admiringly, look perfectly normal. No eyes replacing noses, no oddly shaped faces, limbs which look perfectly fine and functional. And all they do is look at themselves in these paintings, feeling insecure, thinking that this is how society sees them –flawed.

And yet what they haven’t noticed is that they are very much part of this society that they blame, as if it was some external force they were never part of. They never realise that eventually, it’s in their hands to change views, to turn heads, and to trigger, in people, the need to question. It’s all in our hands.”

The artist couldn’t agree more. Yet, like everyone else, he chose to stay silent about it.

————————————

Yes, hi-hello. This is me, not being silent.

Morals.

There are somethings I never understood, simply because I was brought up differently. As I often mention, my family is a rather open and blatant one. I grew up in such an environment, hence I was terribly confused when I came across people like my classmates.

Story time!

Morals. A word all too familiar to us. What are morals though? Does it not vary from person to person? Why does one enforce their morals onto the other? THAT was a concept I never understood. It was back in 4th grade, when I first came across the word ‘period’. My sister introduced the concept to me for she felt it was “time”. She gave me every ‘dirty’ detail and of course I felt it important to confront my mother for, obvious reasons. (The reasons being “sex” in my country was considered a rather indecent, immoral activity and clearly, I had just found out that my parents did it in order to bring me about.) My mother was forced to agree and of course my sister received a tiny lecture. However, moments later, she had managed to convince them that it was alright for me to know.

The next day, I was all fueled and excited to share my new knowledge with my friends. The knowledge wasn’t welcomed by them all however. Most were in denial, claiming that their parents had never had sex. The only thing that I told them straight to their faces was, “Well then you’re adopted!”. Although it brings about laughter today when I tell people the story, it didn’t have the same effect, years ago. I was bullied for knowing too much, “lying” and for misleading. Now that I’m all grown, I’ve started to wonder. What are our morals and why are these our morals? Why do I follow them? Do I want to? Do I need to? So many such questions were racing through my mind, and they still do. Why exactly do we lie to the younger ones about where babies come from? Of course, no need to go into detail for perhaps they won’t understand at such a young age. But why hide it at all? Why do we consider sex as immoral, at least why do most of us? I often come across the phrase “Sex is a form of art.” Doesn’t seem that way to many, evidently. I understand, it IS burdensome to end up pregnant at a young age, doesn’t mean we keep our youth all cooped up. Shouldn’t we be spreading awareness instead? Should we honestly push the usual, pointless beliefs onto the younger generation? Of course, we have sex-ed classes. No complaints at all. But how (again) blatant are they? Are they classes where they promote the idea that “Sex is bad and immoral” or are they the kind of classes where the idea of trust and privacy is promoted?

I come from a country where most of the population hasn’t gotten their chance at sex-ed. In fact, never once have we had a sex-ed class in my previous school. When there was an attempt made at teaching us all, the girls were too timid to mention their breasts until I got fed up and simply got up to talk about “boobs”. In my country, most girls are awfully timid to be themselves. Timid to be women. Why are we taught to hide and not be open about having boobs? It isn’t like men do not know of their existence. Why must one be conscious about their bra strap showing 24×7. Again, it isn’t like the people don’t know that we, GIRLS, wear bras. Why are we so timid and afraid of consequences, judgments and men?(Okay not necessarily afraid of men per se, but you get what I mean, right?) Are these morals honestly valid, necessary and “empowering” in any way? Do they NEED to exist?

It’s just that our society needs to think about these questions. Think about what they’re thinking and think about how rational they’re being. Why is it that we can’t all just go about our lives without prying into people’s personal lives and beliefs? Why don’t we just encourage individual thinking, help people see different perspectives rather than forcing our views on to them? And again, WHY is sex immoral, or rather, why is being a woman immoral? Why not focus on spreading awareness rather than focusing more on just completely spreading one’s beliefs? Perhaps then we could’ve prevented multiple cases of aids and other such STD’s. People should honestly start thinking and stop judging.


Sleepy rant~ feel like I could’ve written this better. More sleepy I am, the more my vocabulary shortens I guess. But honestly, recent incidents got me thinking. Shall proof read and form better sentences later. #Tingsthatkeepmeupatnight

Too Late.

I stared and stared,

His sun kissed, dusky skin aglow.

I searched and searched,

For a deafening silence and a space, darkness-clad.

I tried and tried,

to wear a smile, every time he shunned me.

I cried and cried,

Every night, thinking back, about us.

I moved and moved,

Along the lines of forgetting him.

I thought and thought,

Back to the days when I thought I loved him.

He tried and tried,

To convince me to love him back,

For he finally loved me.

But it was too late, as I moved on,

Only to wake up, every morning, next to the girl I loved most.


Train rides. That should explain it.

A Familiar Scent.

She lay her head on his chest,

Their ragged breaths in sync.

She took a deep breath, inhaling his scent,

A familiar scent that calmed her nerves.

A smile so faint, graced her lips,

As she embraced the scent that enveloped her.

He smelled like cinnamon and cigarettes,

His chest was firm and moved up and down,

A sensation she found calming.

All that was heard was their labored breaths.

A lazy day was now well spent,

And at that moment she felt complete.

——————————————————–

What can I say? The rain just makes me more romantic

Being A Pluviophile; Obsessed With Insanity.

Her tears trickled down her cheek,

As delicate raindrops would.

She let out loud breaths yet she was quiet,

But she was screaming on the inside.

Her screams though quiet, would be as loud and trembling,

Like thunder, if unleashed.

Her face, glossy and wet, shimmered as bright as lightning.

She sobbed until her chest was rumbling

And she broke out into maniacal laughter.

She laughed, forgetting everything

As the rain poured heavily.

People walked past, quick glances they gave her, before labling her ‘a lunatic’.

But at that point she realised,

She didn’t care anymore and enjoyed the moment.

She enjoyed the one thing that made her smile—

The rain.

“I find peace in the rain”, whispered her conscience.

——————————————————————————

It’s rainy season, and I’m back to finding my happiness because the rain does make me smile after all.

Thoughts That Keep Me Up at Night

I want a man with a firm chest,

Against which I can rest my head.

I want a man who’d look beyond my flaws,

My flaws that every other man considered ugly.

I want a man who’d embrace me so tight, I won’t be able to breathe,

For it is then when I’d feel like a part of him.

I want a man around whom I wouldn’t have to pretend.

A man around whom I wouldn’t have to fret.

A man who’d enjoy my quietness for often I have not much to say.

I want a man who’d understand when,

I have no words to say but nonetheless,

He’d understand me on a whole,

For I am who I am,

An awfully quiet girl where all that is loud,

is the silence that surrounds her and the noise of her crowded city.

Yet, when I find all this in a man,

My insecurities eat me as a whole meal,

As if it were a boa constrictor.

And I cower away out of shame and timidness.

Afraid to lose him,

When he wasn’t mine to begin with.

—————————————————–

My new school got me feelin’ like…