Live a Better Life by Thinking About Death
It has always been a dream of mine to die—and be revived again to tell a tale of my brief stint in the afterlife. But alas, this fantasy inspired by the film, Flatliners, is neither feasible nor legal.
Death has a way of making its presence known in our society: the yellow tentage put up for a funeral held at a void deck, or a sign pleading for witnesses of a fatal accident at a traffic junction. Unlike my (very temporary) death wish, these reminders bring home the finality of death and its ramifications on the living, often creating a cognitive dissonance where I would end up convincing myself that death was coming for me (and the people I loved) later rather than sooner.
The disquiet I felt knowing my days were numbered was met with defiance; “YOLO” became a motto I lived by as I stared death in the eye on bungee jumps and landslide-prone trips to the Himalayas. In Hindu philosophy, I was living in Maya, or the illusion that our physical and mental existence was real (think of it like living in the Matrix).
I had my “Neo” moment six years ago when my uncle passed on, and I was requested to collect his ashes from the crematorium. Palming dust into a clay urn, picking tiny bone fragments from my uncle’s skull, and separating the titanium bits which held his knee together when he was alive from the little phalanges of his fingers, I felt an innate calm amidst the surreal. The realisation that our flesh, limbs, emotions, strength and ego would eventually disintegrate into powder made me feel so tiny and inconsequential, yet more connected to the universe than I had ever been.
Now, the only powder I associate with my uncle are the signature spice blends he used to infuse into his curries. Watching The Curry Songs on Netflix recently brought back these memories, when the protagonist, Yoichiro, travels to recover his dad’s urn only with the agenda to pilfer some inheritance. By the end of the first episode, he advises a teenager to “spend time with your parents while you can” after gobbling up a plate of curry. The camera lingers on the chicken bones left on his plate for a second too long, just enough time to make you uncomfortable, until you see him back at the office attempting to get his dad’s urn—this time with earnestness.
If death is a certainty, why, then, do we skirt around it in conversation? For one, it’s an emotive topic. The reminder that nothing is forever can bring on feelings of anxiety, sadness, grief, denial and even guilt—emotions we’re reluctant to dredge up out of consideration and a sense of solidarity. Our relationship with death may a private one, so talking about it may also feel like an invasion of privacy.
Yet, we do ourselves a disservice when we give the topic a wide berth. Opening up conversations about death and confronting our mortality can help us live a fuller life by motivating us and helping us live in the present. Nothing sparks a sense of urgency and the drive to make something of your life than the knowledge that time is finite. An awareness of mortality can push us to think about and prioritise our goals—everything from health, career, relationships and so on. We become motivated to improve our physical and mental health, or being a little more altruistic. If life is fleeting, then perhaps the best way to live on is to be remembered by others.
Survivors of near-death experiences often report a renewed sense of purpose, and a newfound appreciation for the small things in life that were overlooked or taken for granted. While nothing comes close to the rude shock of almost dying, thinking about death can still help us to be present. A simple conversation, the rustling of leaves, the reddish-purple hues of a sunset… these become so much more precious when you imagine them to be your last.
Finally, acknowledging the fragility of life and talking about it prepares us—and the loved ones we leave behind—for our exit from this world. Death can be unpredictable, and learning to navigate around it might help to alleviate the anxiety we feel about its constant presence.
How do human beings behave in times of uncertainty? What goes on behind the scenes of writing ghost stories? How can we approach mortality and living? Can we joke about death?
Night at the Library 2021 will bring these conversations to the fore through a series of programmes, illustrated and original ghost stories, a self-directed trail and a podcast.
From writers who explore the supernatural in literature and as a cultural phenomenon, to professionals who encounter mortality in the fields of funeral planning and end-of-life care, Night at the Library will confront the uncertainties of reality and horrors that keep us awake at night.
Find out more and register for the programmes coming your way here.
