… But let’s laugh about it
“You could die right now. Let that determine what you do and say and think.”
– Marcus Aurelius (121-180 AD); a Roman emperor and philosopher, best known for his contributions to Stoicism, a philosophical school that emphasises reason, virtue, and self-control. He ruled from 161 to 180 AD and is often referred to as the ‘Philosopher King’.
DEATH! I’ve seen quite enough of it, thank you very much. It started haunting me long before I even had the faintest clue about the world – or about life, for that matter. I mean, honestly, what can a four-year-old possibly know?
That was back in 1957, when my younger brother failed to return from the hospital. My mother must’ve cried the entire forty miles home, because by the time she arrived, she was all out of tears – dry-eyed and hollow, like someone who’d misplaced her soul on the roadside.
Then came 1961, and another performance by our family’s favourite guest star – Death. This time, an older aunt went due to birth complications. The baby went with her, of course, like a buy-one-get-one-free offer from the universe.
There I was, eight years old, staring at the two of them and thinking they were having a bit of a nap. Any moment now, I thought, they’d wake up, stretch, and ask for a cup of tea. But no – they stayed perfectly still.
By 1965, I was thirteen and apparently qualified to hold dead bodies. My little nephew had gone cold on his mother’s lap, and I was the lucky one chosen to hold him while his father was off in the jungle doing, you know, “manly” things.
Men, especially fathers in those days, often spent a lot of time in the jungle – hunting, fishing, chopping trees, and foraging for food.
There were other deaths after that – plenty, in fact – but they were mostly acquaintances, strangers, or people I barely knew. The world kept serving them up like unsavoury leftovers: one after another, without pause or explanation. Death kept turning up, uninvited, smug as ever. It’s inevitable, relentless, and – if I’m honest – rather tedious after a while.
Before I go further, let me make something crystal clear from here on: I don’t like death, naturally. But I don’t hate it, either. Hate demands passion – the kind you reserve for slow Wi-Fi or pineapple on pizza if you’re a purist.
Disliking death is more akin to mild annoyance, like a mosquito buzzing in your ear or that one friend who insists on sending voice notes instead of texts. You roll your eyes, wave it away, and mutter, “Ugh, why?”
Why the dislike rather than full-blown hatred? Well, hating death feels counterproductive, like trying to boycott gravity. Death doesn’t care if you hate it. It’s not going to lose sleep over your opinion.
It’s the ultimate unshakable guest who shows up whether or not you RSVP’d – and let’s be honest, it’s not like you have a bouncer waiting to kick it out.
Death Is Like the World’s Worst Salesperson
Here’s the thing about death: there’s no negotiation, no recipe for a polite exchange, no Dutch auction where you can bid for “just one more day”. Death doesn’t ask, “Are you ready?”
It just shows up uninvited, plonks itself down, and says, “Right, we’re doing this now. Hope you brushed your teeth.” It’s like that friend that borrows your stuff (without asking, of course) and loses it forever, only the “stuff” is your pulse and oxygen supply.
Frankly, I find the irreversibility a bit offensive. Can’t death have a returns policy? A 30-day grace period for me to test-drive my options? How is Amazon more flexible than the afterlife? And, while we’re at it, why can’t we even negotiate a delay? Imagine calling death’s equivalent of customer service:
Me: Hi, yes, I’d like to postpone my appointment. I know I scheduled it for … uh, unknown, but can we push that back another 50 years or so? I’ve got some ‘nasi lemak’ I want to try next week, and who would I haunt if I died right now?
Death: Sir, our policy states that all appointments are non-refundable and non-transferable. No exceptions. By the way, your soul rests better with a five-star review, so don’t forget to rate us.
Of course, death doesn’t answer, because death has no department for complaints. Figures.
Life vs. Death: The House Metaphor No One Asked For
Think of life as the inside of your house and death as the outside. Inside, you have your comfy couch, your snack stash, and your safe predictability. Outside, it’s a big cosmic meh. And here’s the real kicker: when you open the door and step out, that’s it. No re-entries, no sneaky window climbs. You step outside, lock the door behind you, and – poof – you’re just … outside.
What’s outside, you ask? Beats me. Some people swear it’s an endless buffet (please let there be sambal). Others insist it’s eternal nothingness, which, to be honest, sounds like the universe’s way of ghosting us all. Either way, I’d like to think there’s a cosmic waiting room where you can sit for a bit, have some biscuits, and catch up on the news before your molecules decide to dissolve or transmogrify into stardust. A guy can dream.
Packing for the Afterlife: A Disaster in the Making
Another reason death bothers me? The no-luggage policy. Call me materialistic, but I have stuff I like, okay? I have a perfect pair of sneakers I’ve never worn – the holy grail of footwear – that I’ve been saving for … I don’t even know. Some vague perfect moment that will probably never come because death will swoop in before I can even scuff them.
And food! Oh, the tragedy. You mean to tell me there will be no sambal? No nasi lemak? No laksa? What cruel, flavourless design is the afterlife working with? How do you expect me to go anywhere without chicken rice? I’ve spent my entire life mastering the perfect balance of rice to sambal, only to be told I can’t bring it with me? Injustice!
Also, can we talk about the lack of plus-ones? If I’m going to die, I’d like my favourite people to tag along – for moral support, obviously. But no one’s volunteering. Turns out everyone’s happy to play Netflix on repeat in life’s living room while I wander off alone into the great outdoors. Selfish.
Death’s PR Problem
Look, this article might sound macabre – or as some would put it, “Wow, who hurt you?” But I’m just being practical. Death could really use a marketing expert, because it’s been spinning the same bleak pitch since time began. Couldn’t it jazz up the offering a bit? Throw in some perks? Imagine if death’s approach were reimagined by a corporate branding team:
Death Inc. – Where Eternity Happens™
Perk #1: Free drinks upon arrival! (Disclaimer: Just water.)
Perk #2: No more taxes! Woo-hoo!
Perk #3: Eternal peace – or restless haunting, dealer’s choice.
That’s all I’m asking for – a bit of creativity!
The Waiting Game – Let’s Aim for Longevity
Of course, with my dislike of death, I have no plans to meet it any time soon. I like life. Yes, it’s confusing, messy, and sometimes smells weird, but it’s my mess, and I’ll be damned (pun intended) if I give it up without a fight. Ideally, I’d like to stick around as long as possible.
What’s the benchmark for long life these days? 100? If people like our former prime minister, Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad, can do it, then so can I – though, to be honest, I’d prefer not to end up a walking fossil. The world is already crowded enough without adding a dinosaurised version of me.
But here’s my real dilemma. If I hang out too long, will life start feeling like that party you stayed at past midnight, where suddenly no one cool is around, and the snacks are gone?
Should I bow out gracefully before the metaphorical chips and dips disappear, or will I risk becoming the universe’s equivalent of an embarrassing drunk uncle who just won’t leave?
Parting Thoughts (Because, You Know, Death is Permanent)
To cap it off, I dislike death because it’s unoriginal, unkind, and unrelenting. But hey, it’s got one thing going for it: absolute equality. Rich or poor, young or old, CEO or sandwich artist, we all get to meet the Grim Reaper someday.
And while I’d love to tell you I’m fine with it, I’m really not. I’ll be here with my unscuffed sneakers and my sambal, dodging death’s calls for as long as I can.
As for writing that counter-article called ‘Why I Like Death’? Don’t hold your breath. Or actually, scratch that – do hold your breath, if it keeps you alive a little longer.
So, here we are, alive and mildly amused by our collective existential dread. Let’s laugh about it while we can! Who’s joining me for sambal tomorrow?
The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the Sarawak Tribune. The writer can be reached at www.hayhenlin@gmail.com
