doomsday

by Jessica Keady

Why are we

Beholden to our Mortality, Enveloped by our gratitude for life, Calcified by our need to live

We embrace modernity

As if there is a semblance of Hope,

When it is polluted with transgressions. Saturated with villainy. Tarnished by malefactions.

We walk around each day

Unbothered and oblivious, As if hate does not permeate all around us Marring our understanding of reality

Leaving us in a cloud of Malice. As if our actions are not spurred by Narcissism

Disguised by a coy smile, Corrupting our intentions. As if pretence will somehow make everything Better.

We have lost all sense of Humanity

What it means to be, Human.

Our tender, loving hearts desecrated, Demolished into delicate pieces of Poison.

Eternally fractured.

So, as we hurtle towards calamity My existence becomes obsolete. I am useless In a world, Oppressed.

When I Die, Let my eulogy be rhapsodic. Bring out the symphonies, And burn me with the lilies. Do not lament my death, For I have transcended photography by Nicole Lau

Imperfection.

As I lie in bed on yet another sleepless night, I think. I think of life, of loss, and of death. In the late hours of the night, or perhaps even the early hours of the morning, when nothing is alive, I think of impermanence, isolation and frailty. Accompanied by only the faint buzz of electricity to anxious thoughts, I think of death and what it means to die.

I think of how every person on this planet will one day experience loss, be it the loss of a keepsake, the loss of hair, or even the tragic loss of a loved one. Perhaps some have already experienced the emptiness left by loss, the cold numbness of something that is no longer there.

I stare at the overly bright pixels of my phone screen. The number flicks from 3:52 to 3:53 in the blink of an eye, and just like that I grow anxious about the mere passing of seconds. Time will come and go just as swiftly and harshly as the seasons do, and one day, we’ll face the epitome of isolation, misery and loss — seized by the ghostly hands of death itself.

With growing alarm, I ask myself: why does humankind have such a grotesque fixation on death? It’s a morbid thought, but I think about how one day our chests will compress and we’ll breathe our last breath, and just like that, our brief stay on earth will cease to be.

I think of a phrase that I once came across.

Memento mori: remember that you will die.

By Catherine Hu

Skulls, stoicism and existential dread

It’s a pessimistic idea, but it’s one that has existed alongside human life since the beginning of civilization.

I think of how it has shown itself as erratic streaks of ink on the scrolls and letters of great stoics. Seneca’s letters full of musings about death meditate on our impermanent nature. “Consider how ephemeral and mean all mortal things are,” Marcus Aurelius invites us to ponder. Epictetus went as far as saying that when enjoying the pleasures of life, we are simply distracting ourselves from our one shared guarantee of death. ‘Memento mori’ weaves itself into the thoughts of philosophers both past and present. Whether you find the Stoics of classical antiquity dramatic or not, it’s clear that for some, our fear of finitude was a driving force behind culture flourishing.

I think of masterpieces in museums, with delicate brushstrokes hiding the reminder of ‘Memento mori’ amongst them. As ivory pigments arrange themselves into skulls, and dull pinks and green take on the form of a wilted flower, they carry with them a foreboding, sinking doom. Still-life images that capture scenes of clocks, guttering candles, and even soap bubbles, also capture the fleeting nature of time and the seemingly futile vanities of life.

When I think of death, in my head I hear Mozart’s Requiem. I am reminded of the haunting voices of the chorus, the story it tells, and the everpresent idea of death as ‘Memento Mori’ rises and falls with the notes. What now is nothing more than a pessimistic notion of death once flowed with the singing of a requiem, serving as a reminder that judgement day would one day arrive.

‘Memento mori’ inserts itself throughout history and time, choosing to stick itself to scholars or buildings. Or perhaps just like now, in more spontaneous moments on sleepless nights just like this, as a human like me lies in their mortal glory, it chooses to strike. Perhaps while dwelling in angsty feelings, someone somewhere shares the same thoughts and feelings as me

Despite my naivety and complete lack of understanding of philosophy, I have come to the conclusion that perhaps death and life are just two sides of the same coin. Since the beginning of time, death has woven itself within the branches of human nature, and it has come to the point where one simply cannot exist without the other.

It’s disturbing. It’s an uncomfortable idea that we must live comfortably with, whether that’s by turning this foreign idea over and over in your head, or simply just approaching each day with an upbeat grin and a ‘YOLO.’ In the end, life, loss and death are one and the same, with pessimistic reminders of our mortality being a constant in our lives whether we know it or not.

But why should that bother us? If loss and life must exist in harmony, then in true ‘carpe diem’ fashion, just let them. As I turn over my pillow to the cold side and stare out the window, I think to myself: why does it matter that we are impermanent beings?

Humankind’s fixation doesn’t bother me, so you shouldn’t let it bother you either.

Death lurks: what does it matter?