What do you think of Death?
The first time I came across a dead body that upset me was when I was 14. Quite old, for sure, but prior to this, I never really cared about Death. I would see it as something I could laugh about because it is, afterall, a natural process. I never understood what made people so obsessed with Death that they felt the reason to mourn it. I think I believed that it was something to be celebrated, growing up a Christian, so why the long faces?
I also like to believe that I was quite fascinated by any sort of Death and perhaps a little sadistic when I thought of it, since it made me laugh. Whether at people’s sorrow, or at someone’s misfortune, or perhaps my obsession with anything Anti-Christian (not Anti-Christ, there’s a difference) led me to snigger at the irony of a person dying after living this thing we consider so precious, ‘Life’.
For most of it I never understood if our contributions as human beings were ever something to be proud of. I mean, look at us. We have managed to destroy natural areas and disrupt the balance of something we really cannot control since we are incapable, for the most of it, of producing ‘naturally’ the things that Nature does. Yes, we have science. But do we as human beings all think in the same manner? Can we all behave in a way that together all of us would perform synchronised functions that Nature does in its (let’s not force Gender and Sex on to Nature too, please) own entirety? I doubt it.
On finding out that a neighbour passed, the first instinct that popped up in me was to consider what the being contributed to Society. Oddly, he had. He was a drug user, and when he got off it, he started talking to youth who had fallen prey to the same, counseling them as someone who went though the same.
The first time I touched a dead body, I did so to wake my Great Grandmother up from a deep sleep I was sure everyone had misinterpreted as Death. She did not wake up. I could not try propping her up, lifting her up to a sitting position again. I read that people wore veils and black to mourn the death of a relative not because they felt bad but because, as per European belief, it kept the deceased’s soul from finding and haunting its relatives. I think I was found by my greatgrandmother. And that was the best feeling. It reassured me that Death was nothing to fear or be weary of. And the souls we believe in shall travel if they want to. Let them. Why not?