My Funeral

I have this recurring thought that I’m going to die young.

The reason? Probably getting hit by a car. Or a motorcycle. Or maybe I’ll just drop dead from an aneurysm out of nowhere.

I had this dream once where I got hit by a motorcycle. Ever since then, crossing the street feels like I’m participating in the Hunger Games. If I have to choose between an overpass and a pedestrian crossing, I’ll always take the overpass. Even if it’s more tiring. Unless there’s a traffic light or a crowd of people crossing with me.

I also stay up way too late, so every now and then I’ll feel this weird tension in my head. If I’m somewhere cold, my neck starts freezing, and suddenly I’m convinced I’m about to have a stroke. That’s where the aneurysm fear comes from. It doesn’t help that one of the strongest women who’s inspired me (who also happened to share my birthday) died suddenly from one.

A few years ago, if you had asked me whether I was scared of dying, I would’ve said no without hesitation. Back then, I was so heartbroken, exhausted, and sad that I honestly thought living is more painful than dying.

Somewhere along the way, though, that changed. I don’t know what happened maybe I just learned to love myself more and appreciate life.

Now I’m scared of dying before I’ve really lived. Before I’ve experienced everything life has to offer. Before I’ve reached my full potential. Before I’ve had the chance to make even the smallest positive impact on the world.

I don’t know if its just my main character syndrome and I’m just being delulu. I feel like I have this mission of helping shift humanity in some way. I have this feeling that I’m meant to help people reconnect with something they’ve lost touch with. I just don’t know what that something is yet or how I’m supposed to do it. I’d like to believe I won’t pass on until that mission is complete. I’d like to believe that all the difficulty I ever went through wasn’t random and that it becomes the source of my ability to contribute meaningfully later.

Or maybe I’m just romanticizing my suffering because that’s more comforting than believing it all happened for no reason. Who’s to say?

Anyway. Back when I wasn’t scared of dying…

I made a funeral playlist.

Which is honestly kind of concerning in hindsight. But I’m laughing about it now.