plastic beads on wire embroidered on a sewing tape
1 x 19 cm
I am coming to terms with the fact that I am most likely not going to die at 27.
My existence on this planet, thoughtlessly ruined by species I'm a member of, won't last forever. I even have an understanding that it will be a blip compared to the lifespan of this planet, let alone the universe.
As a woman with my first wrinkles showing up I feel I'm passing my prime really quick. Oh, I'm blooming alright. Fully developed femininity with hip to waist ratio like never before.
The issue is, I'm the exact age, I dreamt of dying when I was all hippy and teenage. I used to fantasize a lot about being picked at this exact point of maturity. Being cut, put in a vase, and drying up there, on the show. To achieve my final stage of development and disappear. Taken out of the further growth equation.
What my teenage mind failed to notice is the fact that
humans arent flowers or fruit. (and to think I was considered gifted...). There is no final blooming form for us. Human life, provided the privilege of being born in western Europe, is pretty damn long. Life expectancy, even factoring in the destination of nature is on the rise. Moreover, as a woman, I'm very likely to outlive most of my male lovers. One already down, but I blame it on the age gap and heart condition.
My point is, no one hammers into you that life can feel very long, but society will only see you as desirable for not even a half of it. "Life is short" stands in direct contradiction with even a thought of setting a retirement plan. "You won't be here forever" does not feel like "the time you're here is enough to experience the human condition, whatever it may be". Seriously, when was the last time that the sense of urgency benefited anyone's long time efforts?
I think I was so comfortable with the fantasy of dying young because the amount of time it will actually take me to go is just overwhelming. I'm possibly not even halfway through and it already feels like an action and emotion pact saga with too many random events to comprehend. It makes me think about Lars von Tier's Nymphomaniac, where the second part gets wild and grim. And isn't even the end of the protagonist's life.
And I'm scared. I'm scared of the pain and suffering that comes with old age and disease.
I'm scared of not being desirable anymore.
I'm scared about not achieving my dreams not because I died young and never got the chance to, but because of my own lack of dedication or more likely courage.
I'm scared of my partner having regrets about not fathering a child when we both reach our 60's, me taking the blame on my shoulders and stroll with it right to my death bed.
As I said, I'm coming to terms with the idea of living past the age 27. I march into the unknown and with my fears and frustrations beside me. But I march nevertheless.
