Before you start reading this merry thing, I shall warn you, it is not a subject matter as happy as the last thing I wrote to you. But it is a thing that effects us all.
By that mere word, people may instantly call me emo, goth or any other stereotypical words that are linked to death and the afterlife. But I have one question for you, World. Why must we know, and simultaneously not know, about how we will end?
Hear, well, read me out. I had no knowledge that I would be born. The first time I realised that I existed on this planet was when I opened my eyes and saw something that I cannot remember at this time. Well, be fair I was only a few minutes old at the time. But why do we need to know the fact that we will die?
We all know that we will die. Nothing can dress this up. You can live your life as happy and as freely as you like, but at some point you will fight with the fact that you are not immortal. Well, probably. I know I have.
I’ll be completely honest with you, I fought with the fact that I will die before my age turned into double figures. I remember crying with panic and shouting “I don’t want to die” when there was a news article on the BBC saying how the Earth will end. I was about eight, nine at the time. Why am I telling you this? No idea. Maybe it’s one of the earliest memories I have, well that and being punched in the nose in nursery. Lovely.
As I was sitting my exams in school, I was stuck in a pickle. In one train of thought, I thought “Come on, Ga, concentrate. You need to do well in these exams”, while on the other, a more silent train of thought secretly snuck up on me, thinking “What’s the point? We can’t take it with us when we die”. It was only just before I sat my A level exams this year that I finally defeated my thoughts, but it was too late. I did rather horribly in my exams, but I passed regardless.
I know, I was a really depressing person in school. Ah well, can’t change that now.
If you do know me, you will know that it will be my nineteenth birthday this week. I won’t tell you when it is. We’ll make a small competition, first one to guess my birthday gets a mention on mine and Wicid’s twitter feed. Yes, I know it is a prize too good to ignore.
Anyway, since I remembered that I’d turn nineteen this week, it kind of brought everything back. Why? Answers in the comment area please. Maybe it is just a natural way of keeping people in line. You know, reminding someone that they are stepping closer to death than they were a year ago.
Maybe that is one reason why I just see my birthday as just another day. Why? Well, because it is. Because my mother gave birth to me at ten to midnight on my birthday doesn’t make that day more special than if I was born the day before, the week after, or not born at all. Maybe it should be a day to celebrate for the parents of the child, since they were the two people in my family who made me. All I’ve done is existed, my parents are the ones who looked after me when I was younger and made sure I was fine. So why do I get all the credit?
I’m not trying to write this in a way to depress you, world. I just thought recently, why do we have to know that we will die? I know that I could have a good thirty years left here, but in some sense that doesn’t seem enough. I mean, I’ve read somewhere (can’t remember where, so apologies if I mis-state the facts) that the average age a man dies is roughly in the seventies, or late eighties. That means that, if I am the average man, I have lived a quarter of my life. I’m beginning to be at that time in life where I’ll be closer to my death than I am to my birth. That said, nobody really knows when they’ll die, people just cram many a thing into their short lives before the inevitable happens.
I shall not depress you further, dear world, as I know you are technically the same age as me, and will have a long time before you go (though, in your case it’s more like a few millennia, while in my case it’s only a few decades).
I thank ye, world.