Till death do its part
Will this be a lengthy, dreary trope of nihilistic existentialism?
It can neither be confirmed nor denied at this point — the writer would like to maintain an air of unsettling uncertainty that the mere thought of death is often a harbinger of for many. Or perhaps she’s not sure herself and is hoping to find out in due course, sooner than the reader(s).
Maybe the use of a third-person narrative will create an indelible impression upon the readers to believe that this dead-of-the-night transcription of her somewhat coherent - yet dreadfully existential — line of thought potentially holds weight or value. She will take advantage of her knowledge of a few weighty words and employ word-play to create a facade. A petty game of tomfoolery, albeit pale, in comparison to what is being witnessed in the increasingly dystopic quotidian. So indulge her and read on.
‘Why is a newborn not endowed with absolute sense and sensibility?’
Don’t quote science, it’s a cosmic conspiracy. For a fetus cognisant of the ways of the world rather combust and implode in the womb than fight its way out to live a single day. Although fate does manage to find ways of delivering one to Destiny. And so life manifests, in varied forms, even human. And even though it were to arrive in darker times of palpable strife, a disastrous pandemic, and danger fueled by hate, greed, and bigotry, of blazing forests and toxic air, undrinkable water and scarce resources — it will find that life continues to thrive. And as it blooms, it also perishes in an eternal play of balance in a world afflicted by the gross unbecoming of mankind on a dangerous path of self-destruction.
Now that the newborn (like many of us), has found itself here (choicelessly, if the concept of karma were to be dismissed), how should it go about living? Enough and more is known about what’s wrong with the world, but less is known about self-preservation in the wake of it. The writer is making an attempt to address that tonight. To make it to the end of one’s life with some semblance of sense and sensibility intact, the key, she thinks, is salubrity.
In times like the present when hyper-awareness breeds cynicism and despair largely prevails, salubrity enjoyed its 15 minutes in early 2020 as countries around the world went into lockdown — at least by those who weren’t plagued by crippling anxiety about their basic survival or job security or other binding duties. Salubrity is elusive. A lost philosophy. A luxury of time even — something that one simply does not have the time for.
(Imagine a Boromir meme that reads ‘One does not simply indulge in salubrity’. Yes, imagine — the writer lacked the diligence to create and insert it herein and believes it’s the original thought that matters and insists on the use of the reader’s imagination.)
It is a personal yet commonly shared belief that a lifetime is meant to fulfill a purpose. Now, this is not to be mistaken for the idea of a lofty pursuit of heroic actions that humans have been conditioned to subscribe to (getting through life in this world is heroic enough). A ‘purpose’ could be as seemingly significant as discovering Atlantis or as mundane as polishing shoes for a living. So long as the fulfiller of the purpose finds joy and meaning in the act, that is all that matters. Of course, the constructs of the world would have you believe that a shoe polisher is far less privileged, but the writer believes salubrity lays in simplicity. It is a choice, a state of mind, and can be found in the most unassuming of activities.
You see, the autonomy in offering oneself kindness by indulging in something holistic purely for the sake of one’s own self gives way to hope. Slowing down, catching our breath, and staying with it can be empowering when caught in the eye of the cyclone. The calm assuredness that comes with being grounded in that very moment surpasses any quick fix that can be applied. While quick fixes would be preferable so as to avoid the impact of the difficulty that comes crashing over us like a deadly wave, the effectiveness of salubrity lasts longer.
It’s easier said than done — but the writer vouches for it after the multiple breakdowns endured throughout the week gone by. The simple act of cooking herself her favourite dinner after multiple days of high stress and tears fixed her head enough to vomit these musings into the digital realm. The meal gave her hope.
Hope is often misconstrued as passivity, as wishful thinking. On the contrary, to live with hope is the most active way to live, given that it fuels our will to continue in the pursuit of life and whatever it means to us. The writer won’t delve into a listicle format of what are the kinds of hopeful salubrities the reader must engage in. Perspective over prescription — she hopes the reader will find out what best suits them on their own. But she will reveal that it is the smaller things that she often finds them in.
She recalls reading about a simple tradition the Bhutanese maintain. It involves consciously pondering over death multiple times throughout the day, every day to be able to appreciate the value of life, and thereby, live happily in the ‘now’. What a way to gain perspective! In accepting death as an inevitability, how empowered they must be to become more aware of making the most of the life that they have, with faith that by the end it’ll be one worth having lived! What a way to ground oneself, what a way to be mindful, what a way to choose hope!
The writer has made sunset gazing a daily ritual. She enjoys meditative walking by the beach. Heck, she even colours mandalas and paints rocks. She can’t wait to be dead — until then, here’s to trying to create a life worth living.
