Ordinarily, I think a lot about death. But with the passing of Mr Lee Kuan Yew, the man who raised the thriving metropolis of Singapore from humble mudflats, the intricate link between life and death were forefront in my mind. So, I penned down my thoughts.
“Death exists, not as the opposite but as a part of life.”
I’m not afraid of death.
Or, to put it clearly, I’m not afraid of being dead. Dying – well, that’s a different story.
Dying is painful. Accidents, natural disasters, disease – all of that hurts physically. Bones splinter, muscles spasm, and acid rushes through your veins and up your throat. Your mind replays your entire life in a last-ditch attempt to find a cure to this crisis it’s facing. Seeing your life flash before your eyes is not some romanticised version of a flashback. It’s your brain working frantically to save itself and its vessel. But it will not find an answer.
Death, I’ve read, is peaceful. It’s an eternal sleep. It’s quiet, still, serene. What else do you do when you’re no longer alive, right?
What is there to fear?