Death

The idea of death hit me multiple times during my Bali trip.

The first time was when I was reading The Hours on the flight to Bali. I got to the part where Richard jumps out of the window to end his life. The last words he leaves to the world is to his loved one, “I don’t think two people could have been happier than we’ve been.” Then off he leaps, to the death. My tears were rolling. Strangely without feeling sorrow or sadness for him, I felt only relieved and touched, akin to the emotions evoked by other beautiful experiences. Yes, beautiful. Death appeared beautiful to me at that moment. It felt as though his gentle step forward is simply an inevitable, perfectly timed occurrence. Giving a serene farewell, jumping off, with his robe billowing halfway in the wind, such an aesthetic frame. There’s no reason to feel sorry or sad.

Death has been such an intimidating term to me that I didn’t even dare to touch it. I documented a fleeting encounter with it one year ago while I was looking down from the cliff summit to the bottomless pit. That only one glimpse made me step back immediately as if a powerful force threatened to pull me into the abyss should I dare another glance.

But this time, I feel the completely different way. Death doesn’t intimidate me anymore. Rather than the antithesis of life, death is intricately intertwined with life, philosophically mirroring its essence. Richard’s decision to take that leap stands as his ultimate expression of life’s culmination. He chooses to leave this world in an ethereal manner as someone chooses the other way around. Death is our swan song in this world that concludes our narratives and encapsulates the essence of our entire existence. It’s the final destination that everyone journeys towards while its allure resides in our freedom to compose our own swan song. Whether we quietly embrace the natural course of organ failure or opt for a poetic leap off a cliff, whether we choose to endure physical pain or choose not to, the decision rests solely with us. Death is an equal term that grants every individual the complete subjectivity. In death, we find equality. Through death, we define our humanity.

While I assert that death isn’t terrifying, it doesn’t imply I’m prepared to embrace it. No, unequivocally not. On the contrary, my eagerness to live has intensified more than ever, empowered by the liberation that the understanding of death grants: what was once my greatest fear has evolved beyond fear itself—what else could unsettle me?

The second time that death occurred to me was an exquisitely romantic scene. I was at the very last session of my diving refresher lesson when my instructor P was leading me to swim around under the water. It was a mid-afternoon with the sun at its zenith. A beam of intense white sunlight poured into the pool, transforming the water from reflecting the blue tiles into the pure transparency. He showed me how to craft a bubble ring using bubble released from our diving regulators.

The bubble ring emerged from the collision of my knuckles. It gained its speed and momentum from my hand, running along the path of sun’s rays. I looked up to witness it traveling all the way up to the surface. Within those few seconds, in front of me, my entire world remained only three things: bright sunlight, crystal-clear water, and a vigorously advancing bubble ring. My mind completely went blank and even my breath and heartbeat seemed to pause in sheer amazement. The next second I was back in consciousness, one line naturally popped up from my deep heart, I could die for this moments.

Life is the highest scale in my imagination and such moment is so insurmountably beautiful that I’m willing to exchange my life for it. It reminds me of a few impressive lines from Nomadland. I couldn’t fully understand back then, but now it resonates with me entirely. Coming across with death in such context is the supreme blessing.

The last occurrence was while I was strolling on the beach the other night. It was quiet around, only the sound of the gentle tide rhythmically breaking the silence. With the tide constantly flowing and ebbing, I found myself irresistibly drawn toward the heart of the ocean, in response to the calling from the darkness. As I gradually walked into the water, the tide flushed my legs, then retreated, in a rhythmic cycle. Water swiftly washed over my feet, then my calves, and finally rose to my knees. With my legs getting heavier and heavier, I became more and more aware that I’m heading towards the death.

Then I stopped. It must be a long and painful process to die like this, I told myself. Compared to Richard’s quick leaping out of a window, walking into the ocean and drowning oneself is obviously much more torturous. It takes courage to endure such long pain in which many unsettling intrusion of thoughts can unexpectedly arise and stop us. Where am I walking into? What makes me to take this final step? Am I really ready?… For those who choose to end their life in such manner, their determination of death must be extremely strong. They take death so seriously, so must they take life.

Amidst the endless water and darkness, a voice of death came to me again. It says, I found the way I would like to die - I will be determined to stride into the water, embracing my end with courage and resolve. I want to be brave like that.

I’m amazed for myself that I manage to stay in a peaceful state throughout writing even if I have to constantly revisit those emotionally stirring memories. And I’m very thankful that I can finish this piece. Confronting death with seriousness is a testament to how equivalently profoundly I value life. I think I’m more empowered than ever :)