R.I.P.

Taking a few moments from our busy day, a friend of mine meets up with me at the cafeteria so we can have a little time to ourselves. No matter how long we’ve known each other, we never get to spend much time with one another. Let’s be selfish. Just the two of us. To hell with everyone else.

After ordering our coffee and finding a clean table, we sit down. Conversations about anything and everything normally accompany a steaming cup of coffee. We talk about school, homework, essays and exams. Too much of some, way too much of others. We talk about family, parents and siblings. Some drive us crazy, while others make us crazier. We enjoy each other’s company and want to savour the time we have together, like the sweetened, black java in our cups.

Then, my friend comes up with a question that surprises me; a question that comes out of nowhere. Although she’s an incredibly intelligent woman, she’s not known as being very introspective. It makes you edgy. It’s almost provocative.

“Steven, if you had the choice of dying and having everyone remember you as a bad person, or dying and not having anyone remember you, at all?”

Without a second thought, I answer her.

“I’d rather die and have everyone remember me as a bad person.”

“For some strange reason, I thought you were going to say that.”

“Why would you say that?” I ask.

“Well…” in her head, she’s trying to come up with a non-threatening response.

“Well," I interrupt her train of thought, "there are already so many people who don’t like me – without any logical reason, whatsoever – that I wouldn’t care, otherwise.” Flippant and concise, as usual.

“Really?” she’s surprised. “You’d want people to dislike you after you’re dead?”

“Why live an entire life, just so that people will forget you? What’s the point? Aren’t you supposed to make an impression in the world? Good. Bad. Whatever. Isn’t that the point of existing?”

“I guess I can see you point.”

Turning the tables, I want to know her response. She made an effort in conceptualizing a loaded question, now it’s up to her to construct a semblance of an answer.

“Well, then, what about you?” I look at her, and raise the cup to my lips.

She lowers her head. I don’t think she ever really expected to answer the question. After a few moments, she looks back at me.

“I don’t know,” she says. Her face is blank, a reflection of her mind. “I really don’t know.”

She’s not the only person who feels this way.

Whether you’re on this earth for eight or eighty years, you’re on this earth for a reason. You’re someone’s son or daughter, brother or sister, father or mother. You’re someone’s friend and foe, lover and loather. You’re someone and someone else.

We see our lives reflected in the lives of others. We see our actions reflected in the reactions of others. We live for them, just as they live for us. Without one, there is no other. Symbiosis. Relationships.

Why live a life that you can’t live for someone else? There is no other reason for living.