Eulogy, Maybe.

It's strange how a conversation about relationships and moving on suddenly jumped into the topic of "death." When two people who have known depression like the skin on their body, embedded in their bloodstream, and the very definition of tears flowing from their eyes, "death" is not a stranger. 

He told me that "at least you could write."

I said, "I'm scared all they ever have left of me would be my journals, all talking about how much I dreaded living, and how much of death I've desired. Just so I could stop hurting. Just so people stopped judging. Just so... to stop feeling."

He asked again, "Have you ever thought what your Eulogy would be like?" 

My Eulogy? 

This is Brunei. We don't get eulogies. 

But here's what we'll get, we will get an Instagram post dedicated for us. Maybe a Facebook status too. Or a Tweet. That's our Eulogy right there. Someone whom we haven't seen in 6 months will write how much they regretted not spending time with us enough, a former colleague/classmates will reminisce the good times, a past lover might silently suffer as he will also reminisce all the good times and wonder why we had let each other go, and then ... there's our parents. Every year, there will be a post dedicated to us for our birthday, and then on the day, we died. Everyone would wish for the same thing, that is to have spent more time with us when they had the chance to. 

But here's what we don't learn from all that. 

There are still so many people around us, alive and reachable. Yet, it never crosses our mind if today's their last day, and we still don't make that effort to say what needs to be said, or to see each other more. We have now and now is always wasted. And that's probably the saddest thing ever.