It could be delusion.

When you’ve had your head so high up in the clouds for the longest, you tend to lose your grip on the real, tangible world.

In the world below, you are as insignificant as the crowd of over 8 billion souls. But up here, you can see this mass of homo sapiens struggling about their pathetic lives. They don’t realize there is an easier way to be free, to be happy.

If the big world is scary, just close your eyes, duh. So, you don’t have to be miserable.

Or not

The world and everything about it seem surreal.

The concept of living is weird enough but death is on a whole new level.

Why was I born in that particular place and time? Why-out of a million loser cells- did I have to win that race (the only obvious achievement I’ve made so far). Why did my fate weave the pattern they did-if my life could start all over again, would anything change?

And after it all, is the end. When everyone meets their maker or endless darkness or nothing at all- maybe you just live to die and there’s nothing left after its all over. Maybe all life forms are the same. If you can’t picture an afterlife for the plants and fishes and chickens, maybe it just doesn’t exist.

Maybe, we created heaven and hell to console ourselves. If there is nothing beyond life, it sure would be scary.

It is madness, I dey craze

Death is like a faraway concept.

I know a lot of people that have died and its crazy that they won’t get a chance of doing all the regular fun things in life like working, paying bills, worrying over bills, and getting stressed by work.

 or if they were unemployed young adults in their early twenties like me, they’ll miss the urge to be god and just end the world. But their world is ended and that’s sad.

I think a lot about dying and the whole concept of a finite lifespan and it just feels surreal. Its like something that everyone can have except me.

I try my best but I just can’t picture myself rotten, trapped in a wooden coffin. Thinking about this reminds me of how claustrophobic I was as a child, I don’t mind small spaces now but when I remember two clear incidents:

The first was me coming back from some outing of sorts. I’d worn a necklace that a neighbor had made for me and my mother was having trouble taking it out. I can’t recall what went on in my little mind at that moment. Did I thing I was going to get strangled by the necklace? I panicked, started crying and pulled at the necklace continuously till it ripped. I had not problems wearing the necklace the whole day but at the thought of it never coming out, I freaked, throwing out whatever little voice of reason a four or five-year-old could muster.

The second was me at maybe eight or nine years old. I was trying out a gown that my neighbor-tailor made. It was tight and snug and probably pretty (I don’t remember). The problem came when I tried taking it out and it got stuck while it was trying to get past my big head. It had little problems getting in oh, but getting out was the problem. I remember thinking I was going to die. I couldn’t breathe and I cared less if the dress was going to tear.

However, I don’t recall if I was able to take it off without ripping it apart…

I digress.

I was taking about how I hated feeling trapped which somehow led to me talking about my childhood. The whole point of this roundabout is to show how the whole concept of being dead. Doesn’t suit me.

And a larger part of me can’t seem to picture me dying. I swear I kinda feel like I might be immortal.

It’s like, “yes everybody I know is dying but, can never be me”

Life sucks, but it is what’s familiar. Anything beyond is a world I don’t really want to encounter.