On an extremely late night for a twelve-year-old, I was crying because I had to go back to school.
In the midst of the pandemic, I decided to take online classes for the first semester of 7th grade. I thought it would be fun to try a new method of learning.
I was wrong.
Every day, I woke up tired of having to stare at a screen for hours on end. It felt like I was wasting precious hours I could have utilized spending time outside or chatting with my friends. I felt like a shamed recluse, and despite being an introvert, I hated the feeling. So when the choice arose to pick online or in-person learning for the next semester of 7th grade, I immediately picked in-person learning.
So why was I crying?
The tears began flowing initially because I questioned, “What if everything is different? I’ll be at a new school. What if people hate me now?”
Shortly after that, the thought progressed into something new. It was a thought that scared me, something that I had never once considered.
The thought of death.
A complex topic for every person. No single being quite understands it. For my young twelve-year-old self, I was terrified. I began thinking about the fact that when I die, no one will remember me. When I die, I will forget everything I cherish, off to discover a new life without my loved ones. When I die, it’ll be as if I never existed.
There was also the question of what happens after death. Some alleged sources have claimed they have seen heaven or hell and survived to tell the tale. Some say there is no conscious place to go after death; others say they are reincarnated.
My breaths began to quicken, my chest began to constrict, and I realized I was having my first anxiety attack. Becoming even more panicked with the realization, I attempted to calm down by slowing my breathing and telling myself I would be okay.
Over time, I’ve come to the gradual realization that maybe life is beautiful because it ends.
In retrospect, I believe the attack came from a place of needing control. I’ve always had my life mapped out, placing events in their particular spot and creating checklists to complete. I feel a compulsive need to always know what happens next. With death, no one knows.
Within the past three years, I have matured severely, enlightened with information from the world’s daily happenings and the educational system alike. With that maturity comes a different perspective on life I once had as that scared little girl.
She used to be scared of death.
She saw death as the end of everything. She didn’t know what came next if anything at all. She thought life would cease to exist, so what was the point of trying if it could end at any possible moment?
Over time, I’ve come to the gradual realization that maybe life is beautiful because it ends. If life simply went on forever for everyone, the magic and joy of simple moments would disappear, and life would always be a task instead of something worth living for.
Life is almost like a movie that can’t be watched again. It can be enjoyable at some points, or it can be quite sad, but either way, once it ends, it’s over. There are no more chances to relive the emotions since they’re in the past.
I’ve learned to cherish the little moments when I notice them, such as the crisp morning air, the first flower poking out of the ground after a long winter, or the sublime taste of my Starbucks order. I will try to take risks, to love unconditionally, and to leap without knowing what lies beyond because when I die, all that will be left of me is the love I left behind.
In the film Troy (2004), Achilles says, “The gods envy us. They envy us because we’re mortal, because any moment may be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed.”
