The desire to die

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 It’s confusing, that quite often the things that make us want to live lead to our death, and I am not talking about the drugs we take to numb our bodies against the violent winds harboured in our hearts, nor the desire to conquer or be conquered, be made to submit to a higher purpose, be handed a solid ground to stand on, be embraced within the arms that hurt us the most. I am talking about the desire to live. TO LIVE. What does it mean, beneath the sentiment of breathing in and out, in and out, after my consciousness, through the lens of this thing called life, made up of my breathing flesh and beating heart. My desire to live, to exist, when I know that inevitably I will die.

In my finite lifetime lies this truth that I must have lived to amount to something, that underneath the biological, the worship, the carnal, the food, the dance of a lifetime, I must have lived. How do I quantify that? How do I assign it a glorious banner and celebrate it with wrinkles and bad hips. How do I compound the experiences of my whole life when I know my body has been deteriorating from the moment I was born? That my very existence has kickstarted the countdown to my eventual demise?

I am dying. I am alive. I cannot stop thinking about death but I cannot help but live. Not when my baby nephew giggles just so, and my mom’s cooking fills my stomach just right and the oppressive humidity of spring brings forth the flowers in my fathers garden; I cannot help but live when I still marvel at my beating heart, and the eclairs at my local bakery make me hum, and my best friend’s singing fills the car like the echoes of lovers long gone, whose touches are buried in the fragrant summer air.

These are not distractions from death, they are both truths I hold in me. That fact that I am dying does not negate that I am alive, that the short time I have will not be empty of joy and vibrance, that I won’t get caught up in the sad maddening grief of the future, that I will always rediscover my favourite song from each year, rewatch the same movie and fall in love with this one life. It's not about finding a grand meaning despite death, but finding meaning within the context of it.

I just know that I will not regret any part of this story before the end is even here, I know that I’ll keep turning the page with greed, I know that I’ll continue living over and over again. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.






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