The Dying Girl

I laid on the living room floor, gasping for air as though I was a fish removed from its ocean. Each breath I struggled to take was a challenge; it was like trying to breath whilst sand is being poured into your mouth. I almost lost my life that day.

Ever since then, I stopped fearing Death. On the contrary, my near-encounter with The Grim Reaper, who thankfully missed his schedule with me, piqued my curiosity. When will it be my turn? How will I die? What happens thereafter? Hey, do they have Internet in Hell? My perspective of life changed inescapably. Like the rest of the complacent Human race, I took for granted that I’m “not going to die the next day”. Considering that we’re arguably the most intelligent specie of all mammals, this assumption is pretty dim-witted, don’t you think? Our journey towards Death began from the day we were born.

The Virgo that I was (note: past tense) required every aspect of my life to be planned and predictable. I produced my 5-year career path when I was a mere fifteen years of age, for crying out loud. That said; imagine my discomfort when I realized my expiry date would remain unidentified unless some terminal illness plagues my body, or I get sentenced on the death row, the latter which I guess, would be more accurate.

My fascination with Death grew so overwhelming, I decided to write to a few Arizona State prisoners who were on the death row. Sure, my innocence was probably raped by their admittance of why they were on the death row, but to a certain degree, I envied them. They got to see Life differently from the average Joe. Alas, Joe was the one who had the opportunity to change his life, not them. Life is ironic, isn’t it?

Yes, I applied past tense because the prisoners I wrote to are all dead. It has been a while.

People ask why I push myself so hard, why I wouldn’t care twice about taking risks and falling flat on my face, how on earth did I manage to recover from a 4-year relationship in such a short span of time… etc. Here’s why:

Patism for the Dying Girl

• Assume today’s your last day on Earth.

Accumulative short-term goals accomplished contribute to long-term achievements, said my former Group Account Director. I cannot agree more. Have you ever wondered what you would do, if you knew you would cease to exist the next day? I’m not encouraging you to go give your colleague a blowjob today just because you think he is cute, but perhaps you should pluck up courage to ask him out for dinner or something. Your pride is the most overvalued liability you can ever have.

• Memories. The only thing you get to bring with you when you die.

You come to this world naked, you sure as hell ain’t returning to that fella up there with your Prada shoes and Armani suits. Nah-dah. You will return naked. And in most cases, alone. Don’t be emotionally sedated for such deprives you of happiness, but learn to be emotionally detached. Live for the moment for no one will give a shit about you after you’re gone. Visiting your grave once a year doesn’t count for anything. Memories’ all you get to keep.

• Life is a piece of canvas.

I liken my life to a piece of canvas. People, experiences, emotions and whatnot are the colors. Sure, sometimes you get the odd coffee stain too. In any case, I am the artist to my canvas. It lies within my control to make my life either a masterpiece, or yet another cheap mass-produced print sold at K-Mart. We can sulk and moan about why someone we loved has just broken our heart, or we can accept that such is just life. While you indulge in self-pity, she’s not able to change her mind about you. Hell, she could be fucking someone else while you drown yourself in sorrow at the same time. Love isn’t charity, there’s no one to blame, it is just life.

Here’s a question for all:

Are you a dying person or a living dead?


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