The Proper Way To Die (Part 3/7)

4. The Revelation

Wait, wait, wait... I just said I wouldn't want to tell anyone I'm dying because of all the annoying attention it would garner. So what's with all this talk of revelations?
Quite simple. The attention is only annoying in excess. It's extremely desirable in small doses. Hell, that was the entire point of this exercise! I would tell people, but only right at the end, when there's just enough time left for me to reap all the benefits of impending death without reaping any of the annoying solicitous bastards who come with it.
I said 'reap'. R-E-A-P. And no, I don't mean it as an anagram.
Now, obviously I can't just tell someone. That would be really awkward.

"Hey man, wassup?"
"Nothing, nothing. You?"
"Oh, I'm dying."
"Yeah, right."
"No, I'm serious."
"Prove it."

So that's a lot of time wasted there. And it doesn't even end after proving it. Then I have to explain why I didn't tell anyone.

"Because I didn't want you to worry or make a big fuss about it!"
"Then why are you telling me now?"
"Because... um... now I'd like you to worry and make a big fuss about it. Pretty please?"

See? Lame.
So I'm forced to resort to filmi stereotypes once again.
Long argument with someone I care about. Probably about how I don't spend time with them anymore.
Other person says a lot of mean stuff. I don't because death has given me a sense of perspective or some kind of sappy bullshit just like it.
The argument escalates. Voices are raised, accusations are made, things are said that can't be taken back, you know the drill.
And then...
I collapse.
I'm rushed to the hospital. Hopefully there are no traffic jams on the way.
I'm admitted to the hospital. Hopefully there are no protocol-worshipping doctors from Munnabhai MBBS on the way.
While I'm in the ICU, my friends find out that I'm dying. Now see, in this scenario, not wanting a fuss is a valid excuse as it isn't weakened by the fact that I'm telling them now since I'm not the one telling them now, someone else (maybe a parent, maybe a doctor) is because there's no other choice.
Did you understand that sentence? Good.
So what happens? The impact is much stronger. They feel a lot sadder about my death since they now think I'm some kind of noble martyr who didn't want to bother his friends with something so trivial as, oh, I don't know, the frickin' end of his life as he knows it, even though that's complete and utter bullshit. 
Come to think of it, there's a lot of bovine faeces involved in this process. I'm not proud of it, but it's necessary.
It's necessary because I don't want to be remembered as a petty douche even though I am one. So yeah, I'll pretend I don't want people to worry about me even if it involves barefaced lies like, "No, no, don't worry, don't be sad, don't cry."
Yeah, right. 
Of course I want them to worry. Of course I want them to feel sad. And I wouldn't mind a couple of tears.

After all... that was the whole point!

To be continued...

The Proper Way To Die (Part 2/7)

(Quick note: For those of you who don't know, I'll be adding more to this theme every three days)

3. The Bucket List

Since we're on the subject of movies, the question of the bucket list needs to be tackled.
For those of you who don't know, a bucket list is a list of things you've always wanted to do, but never had the guts, but you definitely want to do before you die, or, in other words, kick the metaphorical bucket. It was made famous by a 2007 movie starring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman, called, unsurprisingly, The Bucket List.
Now, here's the problem. If I haven't told anyone I'm dying, then I can't really do all the stuff on my bucket list without making some people suspicious. I mean, can you imagine this conversation:
"Hey, dude, I heard you dropped out of college..."
"Yep."
"To become a matador..."
"Yep."
"In Barcelona..."
"Yep."
"While learning how to scuba dive and play the violin...."
"Yep."
"At the same time."
"Yep."
"And now you're going bungee jumping."
"Nope. That's next week. This week's skydiving."
"Why?"
"Because the bungee jump guys were all booked up this week."
"You know what I mean."
"Ummm... I had a religious experience?"
"..."
"I watched an inspiring movie."
"..."
"I'm kinda dying."
"Oh you poor thing! Can I hold that helmet for you?"
Followed by a long attempt to convince me that death isn't scary, that I'm really brave, that people die all the time, really it's nothing yadda yadda yadda.
See what I mean? Annoying.
Also, I don't think I'd have enough cash or time to do all those things. But if I had more time, presumably I could still be cured or medicated, which is then a completely different scenario.
As for money, I'm reminded of the Make A Wish Foundation. Basically they're a non-profit organization that seeks to grant the last wishes of terminally ill children, to give them hope, strength and joy before they leave this world, provided, of course, that the wish is possible to fulfill. I've always felt that's a really cool idea. As a kid I always dreamed of getting a chance to, I don't know, learn a new language or become rich and famous or meet my favourite author or get superpowers or become a martial artist or be inserted in an artificially created video-game-like world a la The Matrix, so the idea of getting wishes fulfilled is really appealing.
I think that's probably where this obsession with a slow death began. My over-active imagination would create these elaborate fantasies that could never in a million years come true. As I got older, the fantasies got more realistic. For my dreams to come true, it would have to involve a break from reality. Hence the introduction of a convenient far-fetched plot device like a wish-granting genie. Then, when I learnt about the Make A Wish Foundation, it was like I'd found out that genies were actually real. Except, they were only real for dying kids. So, like with all kids, my fantasies took a morbid turn. Whenever I was sulking or sick, I'd imagine I was dying and think about how everyone would be sorry for being mean to me after I died and maybe how my wishes would finally come true, thanks to the Foundation. And since I sulked (and was sick) a lot as a kid (and only a wee bit less as.. well, not quite an adult), I've had a lot of time to think things through. Which is how this blogpost was born - it's a message from ten-year-old me.
Problem is, I'm already nineteen and eighteen is the maximum age for your wish to be fulfilled by the Make A Wish Foundation since, obviously, you're no longer a child after you turn nineteen. Legally at least. I can still picture myself making That's What She Said jokes at age 69. See, I even inserted an age with sexual connotations while talking about it!
Although, technically, that's immature; not exactly childish. It's cool though, I'm childish as well. I still like Pokemon and I still cry if I'm really upset.
Nonetheless, the Make A Wish Foundation is probably one of the most noble causes I can think of. Maybe I'd make a donation if I had the money.
But anyway, let's stick to one hypothetical scenario.
What I could do is tick off the least expensive and time-consuming things on my bucket list like acting in a play/movie (I know that takes time but a bit part would do), or performing my favourite songs live, or going on a date with a girl and kissing her (preferably with her permission).
In any case, I wouldn't want to do anything really tiring or scary. So no bullfighting or bungee jumping or paragliding for me. I guess I'm just too lazy. And anyway, I want a slowish death. Slightly less scary, enough time to come to terms with my mortality. If I died while bungee jumping, I'd die really suddenly and painfully and in a terrifying way. I don't want that. Why not? I'll come to that later.
What I'd really love to do is publish a book, but that takes time and money.
So that's one downside - I'd probably be dying without really doing anything meaningful in life. I'd never become a writer or get married or have kids or anything like that.
And that's precisely why I would never intentionally do this, never intentionally kill myself. The scenario might be cool, but it isn't worth all the regrets that go along with it.
Maybe some day I'll actually put my bucket list down on paper. Maybe I might even it share it here someday, like a friend of mine once did with his blog (No links. I've put up enough links to his blog in my post. Just surf around a bit, you'll find them easily enough).
Not now though. Not yet.
But enough doom and gloom.
Let me enjoy my imaginary death spiral.
The whole point is that it's just... happened. Call it fate, Providence, bad luck, random accident, whatever.
The point is, now that I'm dying, how can I make the most of it?

To be continued...

I may not have a list, but I sure as hell have a bucket.

The Proper Way to Die (Part 1/7)

Have you ever had days when you wished you were dying of a terminal illness?
Okay, before anything else, let me clarify: I'm not being suicidally emo here. I'm not talking about wanting to die because I'm depressed, because life is no longer worth it, blah blah, moving on...
What I mean is this: I think the whole "on my deathbed" experience would be really cool.
Very filmi, but still cool.
Let me explain. I'll do it in steps.

1. So You're Dying...

Okay, first things first. I go to my doctor because I've been experiencing weird symptoms - chest pains, coughing blood, wounds that won't heal, whatever. And I get diagnosed with some kind of terminal incurable disease, and I have just a few days or maybe months to live. Not more than a year at any rate.
Now let me be clear, I admire people who are diagnosed with, say, cancer and then decide to fight it by undergoing chemotherapy or surgery or other treatment.
But in this case, it's very important that there is absolutely NO chance of my recovery AND that I'm still mobile.
Now comes the tricky part...

2. Telling People

Now, unless I went to the doctor without my parents getting to know about it, which is unlikely at this stage of my life, they're going to be the first people (after me) to learn that i'm dying. But the question is, should I tell other people?
Let's weigh the pros and cons.
If I tell other people, I'll get sympathy, understanding and presumably they'll start making a lot of time for me.
BUT they would also probably become overly solicitous. They'd start being extra nice even if I was a douche and probably pity me, which could easily get annoying.
Since I've established that I'm mobile, if I tell no one, I can still continue my normal life while hiding my symptoms and at the same time making preparations for my demise in private.
Plus, if somebody accidentally finds out that I'm dying right after being really mean to me, they feel guilty as hell (yes, I'm really that petty), which is really the best revenge there is. There's nothing more despicable than making a dying dude's life hell.
Need I mention that in most "Guy has a week to live" type movies, this is also exactly how the protagonist gets the girl?

To be continued...