Phobia

The rain came down again.

There are all sorts of phobias out there -- people are afraid of everything from snakes to heights to the number 13.

I am afraid of death. But not quite in the same way.

I don't remember how old I was when the thought first occurred to me, but I was very young at the time -- probably eight or nine years old. I would lie awake in bed at night, unable to fall asleep because I would remember one troubling thing that bothered me deeply.

I am not a religious person. My grandparents are Buddhist, but I have never had a religious upbringing. Therefore, I do not seriously believe in afterlife or reincarnation. I have not ruled out the possibility, but I take no comfort in that gray area of is-it-or-isn't-it-there.

So it occurred to this little girl one night that after she died, there would be nothing left. She would no longer exist; her conscience would cease to be. Perhaps the life would continue its course, or it would all come to a halt. She would never know anyway, because she would be dead. And that sort of thought is even more disturbing when you are alone under the covers of your bed at night, when the only thing speaking to you is your conscience. The thought of being completely extinguished is simply horrifying.

I used to think about this "doomed reality" very often when I was a child. Immediately, I would want to forget. I would hit myself on the head and eventually my thoughts would wander elsewhere -- ignorance is bliss in its finest form. And interestingly enough, I began thinking less and less about this as I grew older; being "busy" meant less time to let my mind wander. In fact, I've been so exhausted with senior year that I conk out regularly by 11 pm and 1 pm during AP Stats without any time to let my mind wander.

The only reason I suddenly remembered this now is because I happened to look up into the starry sky last Wednesday night. I have always stayed away from astronomy, simply because the reality of how insignificant I am depresses me. Egocentric, I know, but it is the truth. And so, when I looked up at the stars that night, I was reminded of how meaningless this all is.

The truth has become even more painfully acute as I prepare my college applications. I list down my grades, my test scores, my extracurricular activities, my awards -- but when I read them over, they all seem so superficial. I've spent the last seventeen years of my life doing what? What in the world am I exhausting myself over? Question after question, and my answers don't get me anywhere. I apply to college because it's expected of me; I will get a job because it's the only way to survive in this world of money. Yes, I do want to learn, and yes, I do want to have a career I enjoy. But is it only because I've been conditioned to want these things?

It is C's birthday today, and once again I did not go to her birthday dinner. Last year, I declined at the last minute because my mother had yelled at me for playing a terrible match earlier that day. This year, my mother had yelled at me for not putting enough effort into piano, but she did not explicitly tell me not to go. She gave me the car keys and told me the choice was my own. In the end, I left the keys on the counter and sat on the stairs for a long time. My mother came by and gave me the same talk she always gives whenever I end up not going to a social event because of other obligations. "If you want something different from everyone else, you have to sacrifice to get it." Yes, Gov. J has clearly sacrificed a lot in order to be where she is now. But she seems to be very content with it. Why am I not?

What in the world am I sacrificing for?