Everything is the reminder of death.
As I was taking a walk around the park, a sense of fear suddenly kicked in and there I was, left absorbed in the abrupt sadness. I started to question the very instant with which I was currently engaged. If every instant is merely a prelude to what will happen next, does this not make the current instant worthless? Of course, no one feels that way because they are always motivated by the feeling of anticipation; that feeling, I guess, appears to be the only antidote that puts meaninglessness at bay. I suppose other than myself, everyone, without exception, is eased by this feeling of anticipation, without which the horror will be too unbearable!
I imagined being stuck in the same house where I grew up for the rest of my life. What used to be a lively house will soon be a place of damned solace. My parents will be gone, and so too my siblings. What will be left are the memories I had of them. What a curse if I am the one who is left to reminisce! Everyone in the world seems not bothered by this, because they always have to leave the house for their future!
I hope that I exist not for the sake of anticipating; I want to die along with my old memories, especially those that involve my grandparents, parents, and siblings. For when anticipation implies the projection of the future at the expense of the past, the totality of my existence is therefore interrupted. It is not the new memories that worry me; I am concerned only with my innate impotence to keep the old, because there seems to be an irresistible urge for me to live for my future. My death, hopefully, will signify the integration of the totality of my memories, rather than the stacking of one on top of another—a process that unavoidably leads to fragmentation. I will stay exactly where I am while moving on; it is a sin to not be everything that constitutes what I currently am. For if I become a father and not a son on my deathbed, how sorry I am to my parents! Then I am not honoring my death, because death is everything; it takes away my life, not one of my lives. Though it will be overwhelming at first, hopefully, the whole will crush me, leaving me in peace. A complete death is what I need; a partial death will always bother me, in some sense.