I will die on my 50th birthday.
This was a promise I made to myself some time ago, and a promise that I intend to keep.
Why 50? I figured by then my parents will already be gone; being the 2 people in the world who somewhat loved me while I was alive (having created me and all) and who will no longer be around to mourn my death.
It is wishful thinking isn’t it? What if they’re still around when I’m 50? Do I still go through with it? If not, what is the difference if I did it when I’m 50 or now?
It’s all a matter of perspective isn’t it? How important do I really think I am to them? Are they just an excuse because somewhere deep down, I am not ready to die? Something pulling me to live, because there are still some things I need to accomplish? Some things that I still need to do? Some things that I still enjoy?
The reality is that I can die any time. From a road accident. From the effects of the vaccine that I took. From a heart attack. From a stroke. The truth is, I may die tomorrow. Am I prepared for that?
Yes, I am!
So why am I waiting? I really don’t have the answer. As much as I am prepared to die, I am happy to be alive every day. I am happy to see the sun in the morning, to spend time with my girls, to feel the wind, to see my plants grow, to see the different types of birds that visit my garden, to see the moon at night.
I am so conflicted. I am ready to die, and yet I am happy to be alive. I do not have an explanation for this and I cannot rationalize this.
I hate it when I don’t have answers.
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