Diary of a Wanderer

I have come to realize some thing that sounds a bit controversial, a point in my life where I am unlearning things I’ve made myself believe for so long.

I used to be obsessed with longevity, always working out to stay fit, hoping to live longer (there is certainly nothing wrong with staying physically healthy).

I constantly checked the years on obituaries pasted on walls of houses, electric poles and cars whenever I took a walk or sat in a bus. I was always happy for those who lived above 80, 90 and even 100, calculating the major world events that took place during their lifetime.

Then one day, it occurred to me that some of these deceased old men and women have lived in rural areas all their lives and never heard of the major world events against which their lifespans were being measured. Many of them just sat in their homes year after year, constantly fed and bathed by relatives, eventually becoming a burden to their families in ways their family members cannot honestly voice out.

I have come to a point where I now realize how sometimes growing very old isn’t always a blessing as it seems, considering the many complications that sometimes accompany ageing. And I am now of the view that dying young might actually be a blessing.

It isn’t about the length of our days. What counts is within the 20 years, 30 years , 40 years , and 50 years of our lives, what have we done with ourselves? What have we to show for the time spent? Even if the fulfillment derived from them isn’t quantifiable, is the satisfaction something we can always look back on without regrets? Of course, a life can never be without mistakes.

But does looking back make us wonder if we really needed all that time to do the little things we have accomplished? Did we spend most of it just marking time, crossing dates on calendars or we were so engrossed in exploring all that we could ever be that we lost track of time?