The art of living

4 min read

In the chaos and mystery that is life, we often forget to live. A story about a girl who forgets.

I always knew how I was going to die. It was written on my skin from the day I was born. Born into this grand library of death, for every person, different placement of ink underneath our skin. For each one of us, a different end. An end escorted by an undefeatable fate. A fate I’m battling with unstoppable faith. Faith in immortality, a desire to live long enough for every human interaction, a time to count all the stars, the freedom to discover parts of this miserable yet utterly beautiful life.

Maybe the ink on my skin told a story of death, but the ink on the papers I laid was for the dead.

Dear Mom,

I miss you. I miss the woman that let me step my baby feet on her soft thighs, that took me on walks to see paintings in the sky, that wrote stories in her food, that made sure the nights weren’t so dark, that taught me about the stars and sea and everything in between, that led my sinner soul to love. A love I once doubted was as strong as death. My doubt was justified, Mom. My doubt came when you fell to the ground and refused to get up. When your blood spread throughout my cloth and covered my hands, my feelings bled me dry. A doubt settled in my heart when I couldn’t find your voice. A doubt that was settled by the love you planted in my heart. You were the closest I came to both death and life. You are my source of hope and faith.

I wander around the ocean now, closely studying it to learn how to escape it. I take walks around the shore in the hope that I’ll see something new today. And I did; I saw someone that I called a friend. I told her how the sea was destined to drown me, and I was destined to defeat it. She asked questions; she asked me why I believed I could change fate. I responded, “A lot could happen in a blink of an eye; that’s 0.25 seconds. Across the universe, 10,598 stars will be born, 300 stars will explode, 15,000,000 rouge plants will form, the sun will burn 175,000,000 tons of hydrogen and produce 96,100,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 joules of energy, 30 black holes will be born, and the universe will expand by 527,250 kilometers. 

So why can't I change my fate and conquer the ocean? I may not know how yet, but I have hope and determination. And who knows, maybe one day I'll discover the key to escaping the sea and fulfilling my destiny." Because in the end, it's not about changing fate, it's about taking control of your destiny."

Our conversation went on, and dusk turned into dawn. It was time. I’m taking it upon myself to decide when I’m going. I don’t have a good reason to stay this time. So Mom, wait for me. I’ll meet you on the other side.

Yours truly,


The blue hole, the one glimpse of hope I had. After years of research, I might just face the music. The myth of the blue hole, tells me people don't come out of it, some say it's because they have entered another universe. I choose to believe in this myth, how could I not I'm desperate. Despite what I believed, I was still frightened. The ocean knew nothing of mercy. It kept the bones of its victims protected, a proof of victory. When I stepped in, I was somehow easing the fire in my heart. I felt the cold in the core of my soul, and the ocean had me shivering. Something finally came close to my mother, something that made me feel alive. I found solace in the dangerous but comforting nature of the water. The waves crashed over me, enveloping me in their power as if I were a lost child finally coming home. I felt small and insignificant but also invigorated. Some part of me wanted to keep going-- to stay still in time and simply exist in the embrace of the ocean. But I no longer had the energy to carry on. I gave in and let the water consume me. The air in my lungs was replaced by the salty embrace of the sea. And at that moment, I felt a sense of peace, like I had finally found what I had been searching for. Deep down I knew it was all just a myth. I clenched my eyes shut as I felt my body fall. I finally understood that the art of life is letting go.

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