I will never feel bad about where I am in life because we’re doing all this… just to die

and that's just fucking annoying

TW: loss, existential dread, religious themes. Please read gently.

While doomscrolling on the clock app, I saw this line/title from a TikTok that popped up on my fyp. And for some reason, it felt like a sigh of relief, like I wasn’t the only one feeling this way about life, about capitalism, about socialism (whatever brand we’re using this week), about the never-ending societal competition… about anything that demands we keep struggling and hustling and fighting for a temporary life.

I don’t want to ever feel bad about where I am in life. Not because I don’t want more, but because I refuse to act like I’m behind in a game no one’s even going to remember I played. We’re actually doing all this… just to die. And that truth, as haunting as it is, helps me breathe easier. And not obsess over things beyond my power.

I was a kid the first time I asked this out loud to my mum. We were trying to fix the leaking roof in our not-so-small three-bedroom apartment at the time. And it was such a hassle. A whole drama. There was a lot of back and forth between my parents, the workmen, the prices of roofing sheets, and just everything in between.

One evening, on our way back from church. We stopped by the only shop that was still open around the area to buy bread and tea for breakfast the next day. From the shop, you could see the old roof, just a couple streets away, still sitting pretty on our house. I stood outside and stared at it from across the street. Then I asked my mum:

“Why do we need to change the roof or repaint the house if we’re all going to die? We’re not taking any of this with us.”

This had come from what I had learned from church that evening. The pastor had spoken about wordliness, earthly things, and our eternal life after death. He had emphasized the biblical teachings that we don’t belong here and we shouldn’t cling to material things of the world. And to me, the roof they were currently fighting about was a material thing. One that belonged to the world.

My mum, who had been stressed out that night from rushing to church after her 9-5, replied to me a bit harshly.

“So because we’re going to die, we shouldn’t make our home welcoming and livable?”

I couldn’t give her a response before my dad caught up to us, and we all walked back home quietly.

Still, I could not get that question off my mind because that answer wasn’t satisfying enough for me. And the more I got older, the more I struggled with that question. “Why do we try so hard for a life we’re not going to take with us? What’s the point?”

I’ve watched people die. And every time, I’ll listen to the pastor or the deceased family talk about them in such an endearing way. Which was so sweet. They would cite instances of how the person lived a beautiful life and how their purpose on earth had been fulfilled.

That last line never made sense to me.

When I was 20, I lost a friend. She was five years younger than me, only 15 at the time she died. A death that still shocks me to this day. The neighbourhood mourned her deeply. Everyone cried. But I didn’t. I couldn’t, because her death never made sense to me. Were they going to say she had served her purpose on earth, too? She was only 15. She had her whole life ahead of her, and just like that, she was gone.

Unlike other deaths I had witnessed, where people repeated the same phrases about the deceased - words that felt rehearsed, hers was different. People were honest this time. They lamented, they mourned deeply. Everyone kept saying she was too young, that she had a bright future ahead of her. And it was true.

She was the most brilliant person I had met at the time. She scored A’s in all her classes. She was smart, too smart for her age, and we connected deeply on so many things. There are still songs I can’t listen to today because they remind me of her. I often wonder what her life would’ve been like if she had lived. If death hadn’t taken her away. If her clock hadn’t stopped ticking when it did.

Some said death was cruel; others mourned and accepted that her time had come, so what then was her purpose? Why did she read and study so hard for a future she wouldn’t be in? What was it all for?

I watched a woman in my church struggle her whole life. She lived in a tiny, self-contained apartment, with just a small kitchen tucked at the edge and a bathroom at the back, shared by her five other neighbors. She was faithful, always in church, and a member of the choir. Some would say she lived a life pleasing to God. But just when it was finally time to reap the fruit of her labour. Just as an opportunity came for her to live peacefully and comfortably, death took her.

The Sunday after her death, the pastor stood at the pulpit and said she had lived her purpose and gone back to meet the lord. Which I then got to believe was their favorite line when someone dies. I watched everyone in church nod solemnly, wearing sad faces, while some cried. But all I felt was anger. Anger at the lack of answers to my questions. What exactly was her purpose?

We say it to make ourselves feel better. I get it. But that doesn't make it true.

Why the hell do we act like we’re in a race? Why do we shame ourselves for not “being there yet”? What the hell has society done to us?

Everyone’s out here comparing timelines, to what end? I like to think everyone has an invisible clock above their heads, ticking. Every minute. Every hour. It’s there, going tick-tock, tick-tock. Until the very last minute.

To what end, then?

I’ve always called myself lazy (still do, hehe), but I’m learning that maybe I’m just not obsessed with the hustle culture. I’ve never liked stress. I don’t worship hard work for hard work’s sake.

Because really, why should I feel bad about where I am in life? We’re doing all this, stressing, comparing, grinding, sacrificing joy… just to die? It sounds grim, but it’s the truth.
If that’s the end for all of us, then why am I rushing to 'catch up' to someone else’s invisible timeline?

I don’t believe in struggling hard, or for lack of a better word, killing myself for a future that I may or may not be part of. I pride myself on never taking life too seriously. In not coveting material things that are out of my reach at the moment.

I want good things, yes. I want a soft life. I want comfort. But I also want to live while I’m here.
Not just exist to struggle and survive.

I’ll be so mad if I spend all my life hustling, only to die the moment everything finally starts to feel good. I’ll be so fucking mad on the other side. And good luck to whichever angel is there to pick me up because they’d need to give me a very good reason!!!!

Bottom line, don’t take life too seriously.
Don’t let work be the only thing going for you.
You’re not going to carry your workload to the grave. Your résumé doesn’t follow you into the afterlife. Neither do all the material things you're hustling so hard to get. Or the life you keep comparing with others.

Yes, people will remember you. For a while. Maybe a decade, tops. After that? Life keeps going. We fade. Family might hold on a bit longer, but even they move on. And I can’t lie, that fucking sucks.

---

I’m sorry if this post triggered a lot of things for any of you. I just really hate the concept of life and death. And I get a bit obsessed ranting about it.

---

Leaving you with my favorite R&B playlist — it’s been a minute since I shared one

---

ICYMI (and you really shouldn’t have). Read my short story here.