I always wonder what it must be like to get old. To see the world prosper around you while you wither away into bits and pieces. I don’t want to get old. I see my grand-parents eyes and mostly they are blank, expressionless. Watching television, or doing small chores around the house. Sometimes they sparkle, when they meet an old friend from the village or when their kids and grand kids come and sit with them. They shine the brightest when they reminisce about their past- When they felt like they could conquer the world exactly like I do now.
But on rare occasion, when no one is around, I see longing. Longing to be free from this worldly cycle of life and death. I can feel that their patience is running out. Bodies that barely function, and minds that are fading away each second- they are barely holding on to what’s left of their present. I am not trying to show them as weak or not taken care of. They are taken care of by the family and they are happy, objectively. But I feel like once you get old to the point that you can’t do your own daily duties, it becomes a chore to live on.
We see stories from around the world where old people do the impossible. They climb mount Everest, they travel around the world, they graduate! But those are some rare cases. In the end, the base desire of most humans is to be free. From attachment, from a decaying body, from a selfish world. And there is not a place more free than death. This might sound grim, but it is what I feel.
I don’t want to die old. I don’t want my life to become a chore. I want to live on my own as long as I can and then just give it all up. I hope I have the courage to do that, since somewhere I have read that no matter what your condition is, you always tend to try and survive when the end is near. It is natural instinct. I don’t know what is going to happen, but I sure hope it is peaceful where the ocean ends.
It is a boon that we forget things as we grow older. I cannot imagine how hard it must be to have every single memory etched into your brain forever until you die. Every sweet moment, that first kiss, the friends you lost, the fights you picked. Nothing can be more painful than being able to recall everything, your whole life when you’re about to die. It is a good thing that we forget things. Maybe I will forget that I wrote this too, and you will forget that you read it. Let’s hope that it all ends well, where the waves die and the ocean ends.