Arbitrary Blusters.

I contemplate about death. I’m not suicidal, mind you. But I often do catch my thoughts dancing around the notion of death, especially since my cousin occasionally talks to me about it. I wonder, isn’t life/death paradoxical in a way? “We live to die, we die to live”. Hm, sure seems like someone is saying the ultimate goal is either life or death (with other small goals along the way).

I don’t think I have a legitimate phobia; but it’s a slight fear with curiosity on the side. When I’m on the brink of death, I wonder whether my life will truly flash before my eyes. If so, will the scenes be from special memories or will they originate from my daily activities? When I’m reincarnated, will I still remember my parents, my brother, my friends? Will I recall all the times I’ve been stressed studying for exams or from drama that occurred from being naive? I wouldn’t be making/experiencing all these memories for nothing right? I mean, I still remember the name of my preschool teacher or even the day I gave my brother a piggy back ride while on my roller-skates. 

I guess…I’m scared that when I pass over to the other side, I won’t remember a thing about this life. I want to remember what it felt like when I had my first “puppy love” butterflies; when I first didn’t succeed academically; when I left for camp for the first time; all the wonderful people I’ve met; the moments I bonded with my family in the living room; the times where I had obnoxious laughter with friends; the Happy Meal Furbies; graduating high school - just memories I’ve accumulated for the past 18 years. I’m also afraid that I’ll die before I become a pediatrician, before I truly bring joy to my parents as they watch me grow into a young lady, before I live, before I realize that my past failures were worth it as I finally shake hands with my aspirations.

I feel that death is completely misunderstood you know? Everything in life - well, almost everything - is a blessing in disguise. It’s not the notion that’s incredibly frightening or uncomfortable to think about; rather, it’s just your perspective that makes it scary. I guess that’s my self-response I’ll have to settle with for now. This makes me restless.