There, there. Too many days since I wrote last I gather. This occasional writer of yours has stayed true to his name of being a busy human being. Or perhaps, just another man whose life has been burdened by the weight of his own expectations. Why do I get worked up so much and then caterwaul about it later, you’ll ask. Not that the thought hasn’t crossed my mind. I have asked myself the same question too. All this effort, all these valiant fights, all this being true to your nature of being a man who tries to create a name for himself; does it all really matter?
Won’t eventually all of us meet our maker? What would all these accomplishments matter then? What good would all these great strides that we made be? In a world, that’s full of pestilence and goodness, all the same, all of us hope to have an eventful life. Make ourselves happy; make our loved ones happy, don’t we all strive for that? We demand freedom. We ask for all good to happen to us. We also rope in the gods in our little adventure whenever need be. Until one day, our very last day, we realize that all this was just a vanity.
Your loved ones wouldn’t be there with you anymore. The empire you built from scratch wouldn’t be yours anymore. You see all that flash right before your eyes. You pray to the gods one last time. Let me see more of it. Don’t end my reign. Whom have I wronged? Didn’t I follow all your rules? Why am I being punished? And there, we breathe our last. Those countless days of valiant effort reduced to dirt in one single blow.
Life has always stayed a mystery. We chase life with all our might. It is a horse let loose whose reins we all want to get hold off. But as soon as we near this horse, it only seems to be farther away. Is it really worth it; riding this horse? Won’t we all cease to exist after one day?
Rife are our lives with instances. Instances of mirth, instances of true beauty. And instead of celebrating these little things of joy, we devote our lives to substantiality. ‘It wouldn’t count for me as long as I do not have something to show for.’ The world matters a little too much to us at times.
It is not how much of a niche we have created for ourselves in this rather short life we had. It is about, how much time we actually spent living. Don’t we want those final flashes in front of our eyes to be many happy memories? A collection of moments when we truly lived. It’s about going brave-heartedly to our death beds, looking at death in the face, and saying, “hello death! You may take me now. I have lived enough of each moment, each day of mine. There is nothing you can possibly make me regret. Yes, I have beat you already.”
Wouldn’t that be lovely? Celebrating all the little glories of life with a little smirk right before you depart. Perhaps that is what is life. Waiting for that one last day when you would get a chance to look back and introspect. Let’s give us a break and work on that, right and let not our distant dreams cloud our beautiful present.
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