My Death for My Choice
Death is an inevitability; all those with life will eventually succumb to it. It awaits with certainty at the end of the road, and not a single mortal soul could escape its welcoming arms in the end. Yet during the middle of the path, perhaps even from the beginning, when one is stumbling through both pain and joy of life, that death remains a choice, the one choice that will always remain.
In life I would constantly ask myself, what is the one thing that makes me, me?
Is it my race?
No, for I am one amongst millions.
Perhaps my age?
No, for I am considered part of a generation?
Would it be my likes? My dislikes? My dreams for the future?
No, not even then. For as long as there are billions of people out there in the world, there must be hundreds of thousands that share the same likes, the dislikes, even the dreams for the future.
No, the one thing that I can claim solely to myself is my life, and the choices I made within. It is impossible, even for twins, to experience the same life, to make the same choices, and for all that people can claim similarities, true understanding is beyond our reach. One can sympathize, perhaps even empathize, but never truly understand.
It is that one single truth that guides me in life. Perhaps my life, my mark on this Earth would be more insignificant than the path of an ant or the slow crawl of a snail, yet it will always be mine, and mine only.
So if there ever comes a time where I am presented choices, choices made by and for others, neither of which I would ever in life choose willingly? Then I shall fight back with all my being, and in the end, should that not prove to be enough, then with my own hands shall I end my life.
For it is not life itself that makes it worth living, but the freedom to make choices within it. There is no such thing as having no options, and death shall take me, free me, before I find myself choosing the depraved choice of another.