Ever since I was a kid, every single time I think that one day I’d stop breathing, I’d have to sleep with my mom for a week. The uncertainty that is with dying isn’t something I’ve come to terms with. How would it feel like to stop breathing, for your heart to stop beating? Where do you go then? Do you wake up and find yourself in heaven or in paradise or anywhere else new? If I get to live in another dimension, will I retain my memories? Will I get to meet God or will I burn in hell? Will I wander aimlessly afterward?
These questions bother me, really. And how I hate it whenever I open up this fear with someone and they’d laugh at me. I know everybody dies. It’s the one thing no one could change. And I do not wish to live forever. Maybe when I’m old enough to say I’ve lived a full life, death wouldn’t be such a fearsome idea. But until then, good God, please don’t take me.