I Think About Death

Afraid of a sharp, very sharp truth.

Orthodox cemetery near my friend Sewran’s home, Novi Sad, Serbia.

A Page from This Week

I haven’t yet met death closely. I lost both of my grandfathers, and that is all. They were both high school teachers. One of them taught accounting, or perhaps Turkish literature I am not entirely sure. He died when I was eight. As far as I remember, he was a cool old pal. One of his colleagues later published a book about their teaching years and mentioned my grandfather; “He was smoking with students, talking with them with care.” I wish I could have shared my teenage years with him. He had unhealthy habits, like drinking anisette every afternoon with feta cheese or something else. His heart couldn’t last long. He was in his fifties when he passed.

The other one was a PE teacher. Strict, but easy to trick. A little stubborn. It made sense, the Black Sea was in his blood after all. He spent a year in prison because of his leftist ideas. Poor soul, he had to spend his final year in the hospital, trying to convince his heart to work a little longer.

I miss them, and sometimes I don’t. Life itself, believe it or not, is miserable. Painful. It is the nature of humanity; to find pain. Yet it is our pain, the pain we wouldn’t want to lose completely.

I think about death frequently and unintentionally. I cry, and it weighs on me. I think about the possibility of suffering, of wasting my life. These thoughts are not organised or reasonable. They come like an attack. Death is the last stop, and I do not like to travel far. And yet, perhaps in this journey of life, there are many stops, to see, to enjoy, to live.

I do not wish to die young. That would betray my way of living.

There are plenty of things I would like to accomplish. Signing a publishing deal hopefully more than one, a degree in language studies, learning French, losing weight, living in NYC for a year… the list goes on.

So I promise myself to take care of myself.

And for those who read this: if I die one day before you, please know that I wish to donate all my organs, to be cremated, and for my ashes to be scattered by the sea, somewhere green and alive. I do not want to be put in a coffin, or to wait for years in a jar. I am terribly claustrophobic.

Lately, I find myself thinking about consuming high-quality content. The internet is infinite, yet it holds many brilliant corners. I recently discovered a newsletter that gathers some of those corners each week, and I liked it a lot.

the grand wealth redistribution scheme, hayao miyazaki, and betrayal - this week's curriculum

Something to keep, something to explore

It is striking to watch people smile more than they cry in videos that are mostly about death.

That’s it for this week, thank you for spending a little time with Inner Pages. It means the world to me that you’re here, reading these words. If something in this letter resonated with you, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Just hit reply.

If you enjoyed this, consider sharing it with a friend who might also like it. Sharing keeps this little space alive and growing. And if you’d like to support my work in other ways, you can buy me a coffee or simply keep reading, that’s more than enough…

Until next time, keep wandering.

Ali Baran Y.