Barely two hours in 2014 and I am back at my desk again trying to put down in words what exactly happened to me the year before.
I’m picking up where I left off previously, which I shall link it here.
Well, my life was like this picture sitting prettily above the fireplace – colourful, vibrant, full of meaning and just…perfect. I knew I was having it good and I loved every minute of it (well, mostly). I was not greedy for more. I was…content. I was happy to live like this forever. I wanted to live like this forever. And that was the problem.
One day, it struck me like a thunderbolt – I realised that there was no forever. There will be one day where I would have to leave this world and everything that was great about my life behind. There will be one day where I would cease to exist on this physical plane and become… something higher? Reincarnated into a new entity? Or most terrifying of all – nothing?
Or even if I am lucky enough to continue existing as a higher being after life – would I still exist forever? Could I outlast the existence of our sun, or the universe? Could I outlast eternity? Wouldn’t I still have to “die” eventually?
I didn’t just want life after death, I wanted something which the human mind can’t even fathom – eternity.
And then I asked myself the oldest of clichés – if living inexorably draws you into the end of life, then why live at all? If everything which you do now would not matter in the end, then why make any effort at all?
Of course, there is this heart-warming story about life, the universe and donuts, where the artist says that donuts themselves may be insignificant and transient, but that doesn’t stop us from eating and enjoying them. But my question was – why even bother to eat the donut if you are eventually not going to remember or even know that you have done so?
And terrifyingly, I realised that I had no answers to any of those questions.
Cracks started appearing in the solid rock of my life, and like wisps of smoke silently drifting into unseen crevices, fear started to creep inside me. Fear of the unknown. Fear of losing everything which I hold dear. Of losing myself. For I loved myself too much.
I could not function anymore – not as a perfect picture.
At the moments where life was most verdant, the rot began.
While admiring the perfect picture, everyone neglected to see the decaying wooden frame. And when the frame became too weak, everything fell, landing squarely inside the burning fireplace. The perfect picture was no more. Well, no more than a pile of grey ashes, at least.
And my life was grey.