And My Last Thoughts
Last night, around 11:52 p.m., I was lying in bed and trying to fall asleep. Like clockwork, my brain had a spurt of adrenaline and thoughts came trickling into my head, preventing me from reaching that last hurdle before sleep. My first thoughts were of bishonen men, my second were of me having superpowers, and then, finally, my brain trekked, very slowly and strangely, to the end of the world.
As you might (or might not) know, the Mayan calendar ends on December 21st, 2012. It could be the end of the world, an end of an era, or not the end of anything at all. For me, I’d like to be optimistic and just continue life as always. The issue here is that last night I read an article about the record number of couples tying the knot on December 12th, 2012 – 12/12/12. I remember reading in the article that the Mayan calendar may not be accurate and may very well end on 12/12/12 — today.
Don’t worry, it didn’t end today. As Charles M. Schulz once said, “Don’t worry about the world coming to an end today. It is already tomorrow in Australia.”
But the whole “end of the world” theory had me thinking about the last 8 minutes of December 11th, 2012. Or, in another perspective, the last 8 minutes before the end of the world. In my last few minutes of life and living, I wondered what I should be thinking about. For some hyperbolic reason, I hypothesized that if the world exploded today, the future may someday be able to reconstruct my brain and get access to all my memories:
What is the last thing I want to be thinking about before I die?
The ideal Chinese daughter part of me immediately went to my parents. If I died and the future reconstructed my brain, the most recent memory they would have of me is of my thinking about my parents. Because I’m a good girl.
But then I thought: That should not be my legacy.
If the only memory the future can get out of me is my most recent one, then I definitely want to give them something that defines me, that I worked hard at, that encompasses my morals and perspectives on the world. I want them to know of Nocte Yin.
I want them to know that at the last minute of my life, that before I breathed my last simply because an ancient calendar did not account for the thousands of years to come, that I was thinking of the first paragraph of Nocte Yin. And how, after all these years, I still cannot perfect the damned thing.
So then I spent the next 8 minutes of December 11th, 2012 — the last 8 minutes before 12/12/12 and the end of the world — rewriting the first paragraph of Nocte Yin. It was not fun. It was not good. And I woke up the next morning rewriting it again.
Why do I torment myself like this?
Pansy | Remembrance