Amongst the Cosmos: Big Freeze

If you’re reading this, I am dead. Don’t worry. It was my intention that this happens. That’s what suicide letters are for.

For all the planning that I have done for this moment to pass, it seems ironic to me that I am writing this very letter at the last dash. I was too caught up in the intricacies of the plan to give this enough attention, contrary to the said plans that require this to, well, gain attention. It is paradoxical.

Do suicide letters have a format? I would think that they do. If one were to collect a substantial amount of suicide letters, they could probably come upon a certain pattern of writing, with most preferring to address their families first and then detailing their reasons later, or the other way around. Of course, the vast majority of these letters are written by those souls who’d not exactly had a good life experience, nor stable mental health, a circle to whom I do not subscribe. I am, quite simply, in the best spirit of my life as I take this decision.

Let me address the elephant in the room, the simple word: why? From the outside looking in, I do think that it would seem confusing, this decision of mine. I myself did feel so, initially. But that was a long time ago, and with the passing of time, my resolve got strengthened.

Since I was a young boy, the wonders of the night-sky enthralled me. Nothing else felt as satisfying or measurable. The encyclopedia book hooked me up to it, sure, but there clearly was no such clarity for me like the night sky. It helped that I lived in a rural town, away from those polluted city lights that make the eyes blurred and ignorant to the clarity that they were being robbed of. Its no wonder these folks have higher rates of crime; the nightlights mess with their brain, causing the evolutionary tendency to find sleep and peace at night to go haywire, sometimes in the opposite direction.

Most importantly, what this steals from the person is clarity. A certain sense of gravity that is afforded by night is taken away for those who do not see it.

A significance that I came to adore over the years.

And yet, reading of the experiences, of being in that vast ocean of nothingness specked with dots of existence, there came in me a desire that could only be fulfilled by one thing and one thing only: by experiencing it myself. This became a flame of paramount importance, and there wasn’t going to be water enough to quench it. This was my Magna Carta, my magnum opus.

And thus, I set in motion the wheels that would lead to this very day, where I am writing down these words on this sheet on paper, albeit haphazardly. I took great measure to keep away from those associations that could stop me from doing what ultimately became my destiny. Not much socialization, except for Hannah. At times I wished I hadn’t met her. Put my entire plan in jeopardy.

Now, it doesn’t matter.

So, why am I doing this? It is a matter of fate. Being here, in this station, I feel a sense of satisfaction that I have never felt in my life, just as I had predicted long ago. I now know, with a conviction only seen when one is backed by experience, that going back to Earth, indeed going anywhere else but here, would mean that I would never experience meaning as I am now. It would mean that I will most likely spend the rest of my life yearning for this very moment, same as those displaced during war pine for their life before it. To me, a life such as that is unlivable.

What I write won’t register its magnitude unless you really get to know space as I, and others, have. Many a scientist undergoes multitudes of emotions and spiritual awakenings, and it is not without reason. However, as I sit here, with a view of the blue planet to my right, I do feel that they all miss the point. Still moored to the thoughts and traditions of that sphere, most fail to see the infinitude, and the consequent insignificance, of being in general. Or perhaps they do.

For, while one looks at Mount Everest and is stunned by its sheer enormity, when you look at the Earth from here, you can only remark its paltry expanse. Simply put, frames of reference become non-existent out here. Our minds are far too primitive to comprehend all of this, at least in the way it should be appreciated. Consider the fact that space is expanding. But into what? If space is nothing, then what is it going into? Another void? We do not know the answer.

As such, it seems an exercise in futility to leave from here. I am reminded of Diagoras of Rhodes, who famously died at his happiest moment. Being a gold medalist Olympian himself, seeing his sons win gold elated him, and he died on the spot after realizing no moment in his life could top that. I find refuge in this tale, real or not.

Of course, as I have come to understand, no amount of writing can really make one appreciative of my situation. In retrospect, these words do come across as that of a madman.

Now, though, it doesn’t matter.

For when I depressurize my life support system, in the coming hours during the spacewalk, I shall finally be at peace, knowing that I have done what I intended to carry out. What men spend their entire life craving for, meaning, I have attained here and now. Of course, my blood shall boil and my lungs shall collapse, but it shall be all over in a matter of seconds. Men have gone in worse ways.

I will go where we came from: Nothing.

Diagoras of Rhodes

This article was written in collaboration with Daniel Sujay R, Antony Terence and Abhishek Ramachandran.