I really don’t know what to write today. There’s this thing called “Writer’s Block”.
A lot of things happened recently that made me re-evaluate my life and how I’d been wasting time focusing on my regrets rather than trying out or risking things for new experiences. I’ve been completely restrained on my actions. Like one wrong move, I could end up feeling sore for the rest of my life.
Life is indeed fickle. If you decided to stay at home, you could be safe from the shootings or anything else that could kill you. If you chose to leave home and go somewhere else, you could gain memories, may these be good or bad, that you wouldn’t get if you stayed. Maybe it’s just fate. You never know when life will be taken away from you. And that’s the saddest part. All those lost dreams that you have or other people have for you will just be painful memories the one left out will have. Because no matter how many years you’ve had in this world, 20s, 30s, 40s or maybe more, you know that it will never be enough to truly say that you’re ready to kiss your death.
It’s unpredictable. It’s unfair. Life is unfair. We live to die. We live to hurt others as we leave. We live to be a part of those who will be missed. If we would have known when or where we will stop existing in this world, I think we would have done the things we have been afraid of doing so that we wouldn’t regret missing out a lot of things in our life.
Maybe a lot has figured it out already. The risk-takers. The people who have that “YOLO” attitude. But are they really ready for their own death? Or are they just scared since they have been too adamant to do the things they want to do?
I think nobody is. I think nobody will be ready for death. It’s treacherous. You know in yourself that you’re not ready to leave yet. That there’s still something you haven’t done amidst all the thousands of things you have done. That there’s still something missing.
And that’s why I have been feeling empty for a while now. I still haven’t made an impact in this world worthy enough to be remembered.
A new friend of mine told me some great advice – to take the small things we have done into account since, without these, we wouldn’t be here. And that is saying something. These small things are the reason we’re still living. These are the reasons we live to live.
Maybe we don’t see it yet. But there will come a time, when we’re dying or on our last cough of breath, that we will soon realize “Hey, it was not a bad life after all.”
