Memento Mori

Wake up in the morning, and look at yourself in the mirror. Go through your routine. Some of you might scan your face for pimples while some might nitpick the most trivial flaws in your feature and then get sad about them. Do it. It’s okay.

Are you ready now? Right, normally, you would get away from the mirror, but this time, stay. Stay and look at yourself in the eyes. Look at your hair. Look at the vast expanse of skin that is your forehead which you hide in a mass of bang because your mother was always telling you how huge it was.

Look at your overarching brows, the same ones you pluck everyday just so you would be in the fleek team. Look at them and notice their shape and size.

Take a long look at your eyes, darker than the darkest of pits. You have spent a lot of time lamenting about them because they are not blue, grey or whatever color your favorite celebrity at the moment has. Look at them carefully, you may even see your own mirrored-reflection in them.

Look at your nose. Look at how it descends from your forehead to just above your mouth. Look at its arch, its shape and its size. It’s funny how even though it’s not sharp or long, it still sucks air for you just fine all these couple of years you’ve been breathing, eh?

Look at your cheeks. Are they red today? That one pimple is still there? What a bother. Look at that pimple, too. Look at the texture of your cheeks, the very cheeks that are soaked with tears every night you go to sleep because he wouldn’t text you back. The very cheeks your father used to scrub red a lifetime ago; now, you two barely speak to one another.

Look at your lips. Those luscious lips. Maybe you won’t be able to stop yourself from thinking about all the lips they have touched. It’s alright. We all do that. Allow the memories to come, and allow them to go. What does it feel like to kiss your lips? Your ex used to tell you they liked to kiss them because they were so warm and welcoming. Maybe they really are.

Look at your whole face, every feature, every scar. This is the face people know you by.

Now, imagine you were rotting in a coffin 6 feet under earth. It’s the year 2080 or whatever. You died. Your face becomes blotched, and swollen. The red cheeks your father loved so much now turned ash grey with purple tinges. There’s no blood flowing in those fragile vents anymore, well, at least those pimples are done and over with. Those black orbs that have seen countless things and cried countless tears are no longer shining. They are dead, like a window of a mansion whose light have all been blown out. Those lips are no longer welcoming. They are bleak and lifeless, just two slabs of brown meats slapped together.

Now, imagine all your flesh has gone, and there’re only bones left. All your hopes, dreams, memories, drama and puns, gone. What have you left to the world? Does it even matter to think about it? I mean, nobody would remember it 100 years down the line.

Now picture this. The world is moving forward at the same pace. People cry, people fight, and people rejoice. Then there’s this heap of bones under a tomb somewhere with your name marked on it, the only legacy left of your brief existence in the universe. You’re not conscious anymore, the world passes you by.

This is what will absolutely happen to every single one of us right now. We know we are going to die one day. We know we will become that heap of bones someday, yet it’s extraordinary how the mind diverts itself from this notion. It seems vague, very far away. I guess the objective of this exercise is to give yourself a reality slap right in the face (pun intended). Do this every morning and notice how much you appreciate life more. I mean, it makes sense to absorb life to the fullest while we still have skin and consciousness, yeah? That heap of bones ain’t gonna sense a thing 50 years from now!

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itsmscheng

You can hardly mention anything I'm not curious about.

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