Skip to main content

Be Immortal, Please.

I'm starting to fear death a little. Is it for the better? Has my life begun to carry weight, to have something worth holding onto, something to care for?

I haven't lost anything in my life. That's a lie. I've lost a lot, but I've never lost anything that loved me back. Perhaps that's why grief has always been easy to swallow.

Now, death seems to loom over my family, like a rope that's caught fire, burning down the threads from one end, inching closer to the other—the roots of where I came from. With them, stories and memories that only they know will die. It feels as though something must be lost for it to be missed. A person’s life must have weight.

It feels closer now. Maybe I'm overthinking it. Am I speaking it into existence? I don’t believe in that, but I have a bad feeling. I know what’s coming is imminent, but must it happen with my eyes wide open?

As I grow older, I find myself struggling to understand death more and more. It was never explained to me as a child—it wouldn’t have made sense to a child. And yet, somehow, it made more sense back then. It was easier to swallow, like an abstract concept that didn’t touch me personally.

I don’t think I was made for grief—was anyone? They say you're only given what you can carry. It feels like an insult. The fact that I must persevere. Regardless of what happens, the earth keeps spinning. Not a moment of silence for what has been lost.

There are bills to pay. There are always bills to pay. There will always be bills to pay.

I’m worried about something they've already come to terms with, something I can’t understand at all. I don’t want to be okay with the idea of being gone.

It changes from second to second, but right now, I want everyone to live. To make this place better so that no one wants to leave. I wonder—will my existence be enough to convince you to stay?

Was it ever really your choice to come here in the first place?



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Varuthaayi.

"വരാം," ഞാൻ പറയുമ്പോൾ, "പോകാം" എന്ന് പറയാനുള്ള ആ പേടി. My legs prickle like the seeds of a strawberry, and I feel like tearing myself apart today. I keep picking at the wound that heals every two days, only for it to break open again—blood and flesh. I feel trapped in my own skin, my body will never be what I want it to be. There are things I’m supposed to become, but time is slipping away. I applied for many things. I have sent my name into the void—eight, ten, how many more? They have to call me today. If not, I won’t be who I need to be. Tomorrow, I’ll be hopeless again. I can’t hold on to who I am, so how will time hold on to me? I eat the yellow as if it might bring some joy. One piece is thin and crispy, the bite sounds, and I feel it. The next is thick and bland—someone like me must have cut it. One is unexpectedly sweet, even though it isn’t brown like I expected. How it lies to me. I look in the mirror, I look away. Another is too salty. I eat 250 grams of ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Is It Casual Now?

There’s a line that sits between us—a hesitation that hangs in the air. Let my silence speak. It’s awkward, yes, but it’s real. Why should I feel bad for you when the hurt is mine to carry? I can see where you’re coming from, but the choice was yours. If the words were empty, why let them out? If you didn’t mean it, why not say so? Just don’t say it at all, or let me know it was never meant to hold weight. But now, I find myself asking—is this what we’ve come to? Has it all become casual, something to brush off like it was nothing? Letting things go because it’s easier than facing the truth?  If that’s the case, then maybe that line I drew wasn’t just a pause. Maybe it was a boundary, a way to protect what’s left of something real. Something that matters. Because once it’s all casual, what’s left but empty gestures and hollow promises?  I wonder if this is how it starts—when words lose their weight and actions feel more like habits than choices. When we start ignoring the smal...
Post a Comment
Read more

Where's My Present?

"True consistency isn’t about frequency—it’s about identity. It is about becoming the kind of person who does what needs to be done, no matter what." For a long time, I thought I knew what I wanted. I chased internships, opportunities, and the validation that came with them. These things were within reach, yet the more I pursued them, the more they felt disconnected from who I was.  It wasn’t that they were bad opportunities—they were, by most standards, great ones. And I wouldn't pass them up if I did get them. But they weren’t my purpose, I realize. They didn’t align with the person I wanted to become.  I had let them define so much of what I did, and in that pursuit, I lost sight of the deeper question: What do I actually want? Ironically, chasing them helped me realize that they were never my end goal to begin with.   Yet, the pressure I put on myself was unbearable. The competitiveness I internalized made failure feel worse than death itself. Fear reduced me to ...
Post a Comment
Read more