Inking created by me
I have had the chance to see my grandparents at their really old ages, when they were so ill that they could not even maintain their physical stability. I had spent the whole time of the visit envisaging how much they had changed compared to their well-being time. Those wrinkles suppressed one another, their eye sockets were darkened because of the shortage of life sources, their lips dried as if the skin was about to tear out, their complexion covered with mottles slowly turned to an exhausting yellow tone. Sometimes, their emotions burst and they cried, although just a few drops could escape from their desiccated eyes. And their memories faded as their sight was blurred, they barely recognized their grandsons or granddaughters, yet they could somehow distinguish their blooded children. My grandparents could not master their own daily activities, they only laid on the bed, in place from dusk till dawn, mumbling quiet speeches that their children were the ones to understand. One of them passed away 3 years ago due to liver cancer, in the witness without streaming tears of her granddaughter. I wonder why I shed no tears, was I that glacial to my grandparents?
“Humankind wants a long expectancy, but at some point of their age they would no longer be able to keep their consciousness.” My mother told me some days ago, but she did not know I already had thought of this for many times.
Age and collapse are the two things which any creature can never chase away. Maybe it is a little bit soon for me to think of the way I want to die at the moment, but is time a matter if it can come on any day we are not expecting? The impermanence. I have not lived a life I long for yet, however, seeing others deceased around me everyday has brought to me a conception of it. As well as watching my acquaintances, my beloved one by one achieved the happiness they wanted (or I want) somehow has fulfilled my dreams. I used to think I was an ambitious person, nonetheless, I was not at all. Throughout the process of maturity and crumblings many times, my most significant desire is to live the last days beside the love of my life and to be preoccupied by lovely animals I will rescue and take care of. To be honest, I still think that aspiration is relentlessly greedy, isn't it? So the less significant one, is to die amidst the blooming forest, to be embraced by my dearest nature and to become oneness with it. Despite that, I have currently enrolled in donating my body parts after death, so maybe I would want my body to die intact.
It is just that. I have the feeling like my soul has completed the lessons to be done in this lifetime. So I came to this anticipation of my disappearance. In hope I will go into oblivion along with the dissolution of myself, and my parts or organs would help people in need as much as possible. I know that many of us would want to live on through others’ memories, but to me, I have no clue for what reason I am so eager to be forgotten that bad. Perchance, I am just afraid that the remembrance of me would torture the ones who keep it. I also understand as time flies, painful loss would itself become a wonderful remedy after the arrival of acceptance. Whatever, I am fine if they really let the memories of me slip. Who knows it would be a better situation. No recall, no grief.
But will we die forever once we die? I have another opinion. As you know, there would be a dissolving operation occurs after the official death, our flesh and skins would disperse into the earth, into plenty of small particles called atoms or molecules, or anything, but in different shapes and figurations, they will never totally vanish. Even if they transform into other substances, they will still have something remaining from the previous forms. And then, those particles will continue their journeys to absorb or combine into objects, from senseless ones such as a wind, a stone, a tree, et cetera, to living existences, for example a fish, a cow, and why not another human? For people who have children, their genes will still transmit through the following generations. Yet, I believe that the answer for my question majorly depends on how we define our existences individually, doesn’t it?
I do not have a motivation to commit suicide, nevertheless, I do have a motivation to live,
is to die with the best conditions of my parts. Strange but still a motivation, I guess.
