If you are reading this, you are either one of the few that have subscribed to this blog, or on my close friends list on Instagram. Either way, this is my private (public) brain space. It used to be a lot different, but I prefer it this way. Anyways, continue.
The idea of mortality has been weighing on my mind a lot recently. It always seems to come up during summer, this existentialism of who I am and who I am becoming and what it means for my ancestors and my future children. Who might I be? What will I be remembered for? I hope it’s good.
This thing of mortality comes up time and time again, with the death of my grandmother last year, close friend during Christmas, and uncle in February. It’s a reoccurring theme and despite all efforts, an impossible future. Oblivion. Just like Augustus Waters said, I too am afraid of oblivion, because at some point, unless we do something major, we will all be forgotten. Our lives are so insignificant outside of our bubble, but eventually all bubbles pop and suddenly you’re just a line on a family tree.
My mom sent me my graduation speech the other day, its dated 27th of May 2021. It freaks me out how recently that was, yet so much has happened and changed. I was so hopeful, wide eyed and bushy tailed, giddy with excitement that I would be moving to London and leaving my family. And whilst that still rings true, I am a drastically different person that’s for sure, but it makes me think back to my view of mortality and how I expected it to affect me. Up until that point, I had only lost distant grandparents at a young age and had forgotten the feeling of that loss. In less words, I was naïve.
I got the call about my grandmother as soon as I landed at SFO on March 18th of last year. She had died two hours prior.
My mom told me standing outside of my cousin’s house in San Francisco about my friend Maddie and her car accident. Genuinely surrealist thing to read that someone with your name died. It might be the closest you ever get to reading your own obituary.
I was sitting at the table in my flat with Maya and Andrea when my mom told me to go to my room so she could tell me something in private.
I remember exactly what I was wearing and doing on all those days.
I can’t remember what I ate for lunch two days ago though.
Its frightening how random and frequent it is, in fact everyone seems to be attending funerals nowadays, and I just keep missing them. In some ways it disconnects the pain, but in other ways, there is something to be said about group pain and sadness and feeling it together, like the scene in Midsommar. Mourning in unison.
This is dark. A darker entry then I’ve really done before, however, my youth is slipping through my fingers, and there’s not much I can do about it. Immortality is not natural, and bless human existence, we’re fucking nuts, honestly consistently shocked how determined we are to survive, but its only primal. The Mongols drank their horse’s blood for nutrients whilst they rode, if that’s not survival I’m not sure what is. Can’t be said that drinking blood sounds like a good past time with friends to be honest.
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