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Saturday, 29 March 2014

We all must die

People usually don't think of death until they face it, or wait for it. And if they don't think of death, they perhaps don't think of life either. 
I do think of death, but it's phony. More like I think of death as something abstract, something symbolic, unreal, something like an escape, in moments of depression, not Death, which will come some day, perhaps even tomorrow. After all, I have no experience- I've never come particularly close to death or seen a dead body. I'm well aware, with all my thoughts and talks about death, when the moment comes that I may die, such as having an accident, falling somewhere, being diagnosed with some disease, my 1st reaction will be fear, followed by the natural instinct to have hope and try to save myself, get out of that situation, if possible. 
Because whenever on the verge of 'doing it' (you know what I mean), I get confused and start thinking what if there are solutions, what if there's hope, what if there's more to life. More to life? Like what? I can't say, but I'm alive anyway, which may be good enough. 
Anyhow, "The death of Ivan Ilyich" is such a stark yet beautiful and touching story- having read it, I can't help fearing that 1 day I'll have to go through such last moments. The thought is unbearable. The only good thing is that I'm young enough to prevent it.





(The story's not about Ivan Ilyich's death- that is, the moment life leaves him and he turns from a person into a corpse- but his dying, his last days, and all the thoughts that occupy him during those days about the course of his own life). 

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