What Would I Do if Today Was My Last Day on Earth?

For some reason, I don't envision myself going from one big thing to the next. Sure there are things on my bucket list such as bungee jumping, sky diving, experiencing winter. I want to have conversations with inspring people my age. I want to experience cultures that I don't really have a mental image of. Like Lithuania. I want to try being a houseparent in an international school residence and learn from kids half my age. Yet, I don't want all of these to be crammed in a single day. It makes one question if the novelty of an experience is directly proportional to its value.

I want to spend the day in a grateful state of being. Finding magic in the mundane moments. The subtle and casual things that often escape our notice in the hustle of everyday life. One may recognise this as the mindset of romanticising life. Or being the main character. Whatever you call it, I am fully aware of the privilege I have to be able to slow down and make the usual motions into acts of self-care and introspection. However, one of the reasons that this notion is becoming more widespread could be attributed to two reasons: the first being that many more people are rejecting hustle culture due to its emphasis on working 24/7, at times sacrificing one's physical and emotional wellbeing in order to achieve one's goals. This is a discussion I'd rather address in a separate post. The second reasons could be that the pandemic is making us appreciate and hold on to the little things as opposed to the more grandiose events that are dependent on a lot of planning and logistics. Anyways, on to my date with mortality.

My last day on Earth looks like any other day. I wake up in the morning when the sunlight pricks at my eyes. I lie in a bed for a few more minutes, relishing the feeling of clean sheets. I roll out of bed and start stretching the sleep away from my bones, neck rolling around with a satisfying crack.

I sip a hot cup of coffee, burning the roof of my mouth when I'm too impatient to wait for my drink to cool down. The garden is quiet, calm. Blades of glass glistening with the morning dew. The cacophony of motorcycles have not yet imposed their presence into the scene. I read my book until my coffee has gone cold. It is a story of love and loss and betrayal. A fiction narrative that has my eyes dancing across the words, eager to find out what happens next. No matter how many years pass me by I am still captivated by teens with superpowers, trained assassins and intelligence agents, reimaginings of fairy tales, gods from Greece and Egypt, magic academies and post-apocalyptic worlds with tyrannical governments. These are the worlds that illustrate the joys and miseries of growing up. Something that is still very new to me.

Afterwards, I resume painting a portrait that I left to dry from a few days ago. It is my latest lover. Burnt sienna undertones peek from the tip of an ear, the edges of the scene that are not too important. With my palette knife, I mix a few shades for the bedsheet that drapes around their body. Rays of sun fracture the darkness of the canvas, illuminating afew strands of hair, a smooth cheek, the curve of a nose, an outstretched hand as if to say "Stop, I don't like having my picture taken." But I do it anyway, because this moment needs to exist forever. The painting will never be finished. Details have been introduced and whisked away. The opacity of oil paints is no match for the strength of turpentine. As if prolonging the process would make one's love last a little bit longer.

At random points of the day, I dance. I don't really care what I look like or if I have the rhythm of a goose skating on ice. It doesn't feel awkward or forced. I'm just moving energy around to avoid stagnation. I imagine I am playing with a ball of light.

I am also surrounded by family. I do not know whether they are of my flesh and blood or not. What matters is that I feel alive with them. And even as I retreat into my shell, I am loved and held. There is this unspeakable force that binds us all together. I like to call it 'good vibes', others might say we're on a similar wavelength. It's no perfect. We have arguments. We make fun of each other. At times, they poke and prod, get under my skin with backhanded comments. But they also fiercely protect me. And hold me close to their hearts. What more could I ask for?

We are all cooking a large meal. It's messy. Pots and pans are strewn all over the countertops. Bob Marley is blasting from a JBL speaker. Only one person has offered to clean up. The smells of various dishes waft together, an amalgamation of cultures and tastes. It's a bit overwhelming. There's too many people crowding around the oven, peeking over my shoulder to see what I'm making. And oh shit--we need to set up the table! I'm cranky AND hungry. I go quiet, not wanting to explode in anger. Somehow, they sense it. The solitary dish washer is joined by more volunteers. The table is set and food is piled onto people's plates. The food disappears and the gathering slips into a movie marathon. All of us are nearly passed out on beaan bags and couches.

By nine in the evening, we are all gathered with cups of tea in our hands. Today's blend is lemon, ginger, and honey. Yesterday we had rose milk tea and biscuits with nutella. We've engaged in discussion on politics, theoretical worlds dominated by cows, religion, and so on. There's laughter and tears and applauding houseparents as they walk into the floor. There's reenactments of songs from Mamma Mia and sing-alongs to Hamilton.

All of these are bits and pieces from my life that I've come to really value. I honestly would not know what to expect on my last day. Lately, I've been trying to asses my core values in order to make decisions that feel right and don't go against any of my principles. And this exercise helped me identify what these were through asking why I devote time to any of my actions. Among the ten I've identified, creativity, authenticity, and communication were the ones that really applied to this imaginary scenario.

The pandemic helped me set realistic expectations for my future. I'm not full on carpe diem-ing because I still have to work on certain things to give myself options for what I can do and achieve. I am glad, though, that the whole world has slowed down somewhat. I love exploring new things and. And celebrating huge milestones. Yet, I've found that it's the accumulation of small things that make me appreciate the life I've been living. Even the moments where I have felt like no one's in my corner. The world may be unfair and I won't always get what I want in life, and even then, these are signs that are either telling me to push harder, or my personal favorite, to take on a different perspective or approach.

Have a great September! I hope you realise that you're not just going through the motions as the months pass us by. What you do, matters. As a dear friend used to say, you are immensely powerful.

Much love and light, Amanda