(Ramona’s version)

I’m so committed to this bit, that I’m literally being wheeled out of hospital as we speak, but never back down never what?!?! So, let’s talk mortality.

For a dramatic second this evening, I whispered to my mother, ‘I think I’m dying,’(🌝) which surprised me, as I figured all the material I’d exposed myself to on death would protect my cold, cold heart from such childish antics.

One theory, is that it’s a natural event— it’s inevitable, so why waste time scared? A book (Advice for Future Corpses, if you’re interested) I read talks about how the silence surrounding it (notice how I say ‘it’) in certain cultures(definitely not ours) creates the superstition that talking about it, thinking about it, will bring it to your door. The writer’s point is that it’s just death— just death. Somehow, I still cannot bring myself to be this blasé about death.

There’s a lot of people who think like this (Bozoma Saint John (@badassboz), a cool black woman in the marketing space who I follow shares similar views, and her experience with loss, if you’re up for going down that rabbit hole)

‘You too are going to die, and that’s because you too were fortunate enough to have lived,' is a quote I love from The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck, a short book that dedicates a thought provoking section to death.

My favourite take as of yet however, is from Advice to Future Corpses(surprisingly), where Tisdale compares us to flowers— we buy the fresh ones over the plastic ones, even when we know that in a few days time, they’ll lose their beauty and die.

If we found a cure for cancer, for death, and there was no end in sight, it would take the colour out of life. Knowing that each moment we experience could be the last, is what actually makes each moment.(weird humans)