There is nothing else to lose in life but death.
I don’t know what else we could be afraid of if we’re still breathing. There is no finality to any mistakes or to any triumph, unless my body decays six feet below the ground.
The majority often forget that every day we live, we also simultaneously and slowly die, until the fateful day that the battle is won by death itself. Ultimately, we are equalized as all humans, with flesh and bones like any other, but did you even live before you’ve died?
So what is there to lose? Take the jump, make that road trip, listen to nostalgic music and feel your blood coarse through your veins. There is a reason the present is called the ‘present’.
Did you want to die? Did you feel hopeless enough that taking your own life to cease the pain was the best option? Then good!
You must be fearless.
You have nothing more to shed, not one breath to spare.
Take your biggest risk in life and do your leap of faith.
There is nothing else to lose in life but death, when the chance to see more sunsets are gone, and the opportunity to make something of yourself ends.
There’s a reason why the present is called the present.
I dont even think God judges us or pressures us as harshly as we do to ourselves.
In the end, we are all still His children and we are loved. Who cares about the rest of the world? Mocking me or judging me? What am I so scared about?
We weren’t made so He can criticize us. We were made with love and joy.
I had to remind myself that. We were given this life to live.
I made the impression to everyone at work that I was extremely stingy. It made for a depressingly boring look at my life.
You have got to give it down to me, after all.
I wouldn’t bring money to work, nothing. Nada. Nil. Zilch. I either had food with me or eat whatever free food there was at work. There was always something given, not because I looked like I was starving but because every one had too much. I could be standing at the canteen and someone would decide to pay for my lunch. The blessings were abundant, and I was practicing frugality at an extreme.
My first 6 months as an OFW, I saved almost 99% of everything I have ever made. Everyone else was blowing off their money. They were off flying to the most beautiful places. I couldn’t check my public facebook account so I wouldn’t see what I was missing. Try as I may, even if I was happy for them, I was also a little sad for myself.
Every payday, I would send my entire paycheck to my bank accounts in the Philippines. I leave myself the 0.01%. and I live within that. I never really found out how to get some of those money transferred back in case I needed more.
I never needed more.
2 years into this life, I have enough assets to live by and start a radically new life for myself at 25. The ability to do it isn’t anything superhuman. I was pretty much lazy, and I knew if I sacrificed now, I can spend the rest of my life being comfortably languorous just by growing on the backbone of a few years of intense hard work and dedication.
This 2017 is the year I go back home and restart in a field I have not been trained for.
Does it scare me? Absolutely. But what is the point in living when you are too scared to meet what this world has to offer? My fears limit me. I’m deciding not to.
It is still better to feel something than nothing. Would I have liked to live a life where I didn’t feel the pain, the happiness, and then be gone?
A heart with erratic lines of ups and downs is still better than a flat line. After all, it’s still beating and alive.
The most memorable death experience I had wasn’t even the death of someone close to me.
It was a mother at the age of 52.
She had her hair cut short like most women at that age. She looked every bit like a mother, even her flowery dress that they didn’t have time to change.
She came to me that morning, I was expecting her. She wasn’t breathing on her own anymore, someone had to lug in the machine she was plugged in. Her heart was so very weak the moment I checked it. I had to work fast. By the time her back reached the bed, I knew it stopped.
I raised my voice and called for more help. I knew exactly what to do. I climbed the bed and placed my hands on tops of her chest, using all of my force, trying not to stop. The worst part about it was staring down at their faces. Her eyes were lifeless, staring back at me.
Was it me almost straddling her she last saw? Or was it all the dreams that would never come fulfilled?
There was a blur of people running around us, it was a quiet dance of harmony as we try to bring her back from the thin of line of life and death. There was a number of voices shouting out commands. “Get the line!”, “I need one shot now!”, “Order ready, push now!”.
And then I heard it.
A young man, no older than 11, wailing at the hallway. The see through doors showing him in his full glory. It was a contained environment but they were allowed to see her settle in. His batman shirt stood out like a sore thumb in the environment of blue uniforms.
He called out to her mother, he called out to God, he pleaded, bargained, cried to anyone who would listen.
“Please don’t leave me, mommy.”
We all had goosebumps. Time started to slow down. Even as everyone frantically paced around the dying woman, no one said another word. The fluorescent light reflecting his tear-stained face as he tugged on his father’s sleeve.
He knelt in front of him and begged his father to do something.
I couldn’t see the man’s face. His head was slumped down. He didn’t cry, but his whole body slumped against the wall as he slowly, slowly crumbled down the floor in prayer.
Everyone called their mothers a few hours after that.
“There is nothing else to lose in life but death.”
During my first week at my first job in the career I chose, I was crying to my mom telling her I didn’t expect it to be this harsh and hard. I was 20 years old. I felt like I enthusiastically and accidentally ran into hell thinking it was chuck filled with art and bliss, and there was absolutely no way out. The door disappeared the moment I shut it. There were no windows. There was no air.
There was only the rest of my life in agony and torture, eased only by acceptance of defeat and total submission.
Every one else in their rooms said, “This is kind of okay… I’m already lucky. I shouldn’t complain.”
Oh, but I did. I complained and cried and in my desperate terror of an unhappy life stretching beyond me, I started to chip at the walls with my fingernails until it bled.
Slowly, slowly, the light slipped in a tiny crack. In a few months time, I can finally tell you that I fought my way out. I can almost taste it now.
Listen and have more than just a little faith.