Life was decided a long time ago. There’s no way of saying when, why or how. Nevertheless, that could be figured out as well, because time is an invention. A decision made by humans. They decided that a minute is sixty seconds long, and that those seconds pass in a heartbeat. If you blink, you’ll miss it. However, there’s always the next second, always the next minute. Always the next heartbeat. Until there isn’t.
Time is relative, and so must be life, because time is life. Life itself isn’t decided by time. Not by seconds, not by days. There are averages, a certain number of years people live before their heart decides to stop following the rhythm of seconds. But that’s not decided by the people. It’s not some rule invented by the government. It’s not decided in the same way that you mustn’t cross the street when the light turns red. It isn’t decided in the way that red is red, anyway.
Life itself decides when it’s done. Known is that death is the end of life – the final step, or maybe the fall. Some people see it as punishment, as an unfair aspect of the journey called life. Some people believe in destiny, saying their time will come when fate decides it should come. And then there are people who like to control the narrative – the one thing that’s meant to be uncontrollable. Death.
People control death by forcing it. They want to make the decision of when their body gives out. They want to defy life. Defy death. Defy anyone that ever thought they could decide for them – whoever created life.
People like decisions. They make plenty of them every day, hoping to control the uncontrollable. See, people always like to be in control. They like to be in charge of the inevitable, the one thing they’re not meant to control. Surely that’s not how it was intended – if everything should stay in control, our birth certificate would come in the mail together with a remote control.
They know that death is inevitable – it’s what scares them. And scared people walk on a tightrope, the one side gazing into the abyss of sane, the other side just slightly deeper, just slightly darker, and titled insane.
Thinking that controlling inexorable things out of fear is the only option isn’t a sane thing. Sanity doesn’t play a role in that thought process. It’s an idea of preventing the unpreventable thing by forcing it to happen. An insane idea, well-crafted in theory, not so in practice.
Death is inescapable, so they welcome it with open arms instead of hiding. Those people are going to be branded as scared, but isn’t facing the biggest fear a sign of strength? Even if it’s the last thing they’ll do? Even if it ends a life?
Maybe this thought process will be called insane as well. But that’s assured, and what better way to embrace that than to write about it. Right?