寂滅

Whenever I ponder what it is that I have truly, genuinely craved, it seems to have invariably been euthanasia. It feels as though I have continuously desired to close my eyes and peacefully escape from absolutely all of this ceaseless noise. The tormenting, perpetually recurring temptation of death utterly refused to detach itself from me. The texture of this sensation felt fundamentally disparate from ordinary depression. If depression is accompanied by a lethargy that leaves one destitute of vitality or the desire to execute actions, my state felt more akin to a absolute exhaustion of interest toward existence itself. It is a profound irony. Favoring a healthy impression, I meticulously care for my skin, purchase fine attire, and discard worn, antiquated garments. Yet, even while passing joyful days alongside everyone in my periphery, I remain utterly incapable of locating the meaning of existence. The ledger simply fails to balance; the cost of enduring does not match the return.

Weighing all the pleasures and agonies of life upon the scales, I wonder which side held the greater mass. If pleasure had been overwhelmingly superior, would that have constituted a sufficient rationale to sustain existence despite enduring the agony? No, I was far from joyful. The things that were supposed to be enjoyable failed to render me joyful. A human being such as myself was akin to a cracked vessel—an individual whose very soul was partially damaged. The mere happiness or amusement to be found within this spatial domain called Earth failed entirely to manifest as a legitimate justification to persist in this tedious, grueling existence.

I hold zero expectation for alternate individuals to offer their empathy regarding this reality. If they were to commence empathizing alongside my existence, it would signify that they, too, are experiencing the precise visage of my fractured soul; and mimicking a soul thus broken is far from a wholesome affair for their own spirits. Perhaps that is precisely why children—who romp and engage in trifling pranks entirely destitute of any yearning for death—appeared so monumentally beautiful to my eyes. My nieces and nephews are remarkably gentle, and perhaps owing to their excellent parents, one can vividly sense that they are being reared with abundant love, entirely free from distorted angles. Polite toward elders, well-versed in the art of playing alongside their peers, and growing vigorously while navigating anxieties appropriate to their years—I found that sight to be intensely beautiful. The visage of children developing like robust, healthy trees—powerful and solid down to their very core.

Conversely, I felt as though I were an individual whose interior was entirely hollowed out. Upon becoming a university student, whenever I cleansed myself beneath the shower in the morning, an image of a grotesque being—entirely shriveled, with flesh and bone tightly adhered to one another—would inadvertently manifest within my imagination with absolute continuity. It felt as though that very image constituted my own true visage. Every single instance I closed my eyes beneath the running water, I felt as though I had transformed into a bizarre, withered organism. That odd creature presented an appearance that looked as though it would desperately crave a solitary sip of water. Its flesh was darkly dried, identical to the rind of a fruit that had grown ancient, desiccated, and spoiled; and upon that flesh, bones were strictly juxtaposed as though zero muscle resided there. With a terrifying persistence, that image was accustomed to painting itself serenely before my eyes every time I showered across a span of numerous years.

Absolutely everything felt utterly tedious and exhausting. Clashing alongside alternate human beings. Striving to revolutionize the world. Endeavoring to preserve my own life. Aspiring to repay those who placed their faith in me. All of it manifested as nothing more than futile, meaningless floundering. Because I am an individual who has entirely surrendered myself, the absolute entirety of what I hold within this human husk likely amounts to nothing save for a handful of instincts and an behavioral logic engineered via subconscious reflex responses. For instance, consuming sustenance when hunger manifests. Entering slumber when drowsiness surfaces. I move like a automated machine via autonomous reflex. Entrapped within this vacant husk, a fractured soul interacts alongside a universe received via electromagnetic signaling. My brain desperately craves to rest from these tedious, sickening signals—desiring with absolute intensity to close its eyes and remain entirely unexposed to any variation of stimuli.

I harbor a distinct memory from the past, during the process of awakening from general anesthesia, wherein I existed in a state capable of executing nothing save for raw thought. I was uniquely capable of thinking, while recollection was utterly absent. With zero visibility and zero auditory input, existing as a mere thinking entity within a spatial domain of pure darkness for a brief epoch of time, I commenced posing inquiries:

'What is this domain?'

'What is this substance?'

'What am I?'

'What fundamentally constitutes the entity known as myself?'

To be precise, it was far from even the Korean language. Because I retained zero recollection that Korean was indeed Korean, an entity incapable of interacting alongside anything existed within a spatial domain of absolute ignorance, entirely destitute of knowledge. Within a space where emotion, memory, stimuli, and all information regarding the individual known as myself were completely absent, I ironically experienced an absolute sense of freedom.

The state of selflessness—the realization of non-self—spoken of in Buddhism, where one entirely loses the ego. Whether owing to the efficacy of the anesthetic fluid surging toward my brain, I remained oblivious to my own identity, losing every single sensory organ, which permitted me to experience a realm entirely devoid of stimuli across all bodily instruments—touch, sight, smell, and the like. That crystalline memory commenced its return as the anesthesia gradually dissolved. A species of inexpressible mumbling was received, recollections began to resurface, and I commenced recognizing the reality that I was a human being commanding a physical physique. As I awakened substantially further from the numbness, the indistinct mumbling revealed itself to be nothing other than the melodies flowing within the operating theater and the dialogues shared among the physicians and nurses; and upon hearing the physician’s utterance, "Now that the sound is audible, endeavor to open your eyes," I was capable of opening my eyelids as though awakening from a deep hypnosis.

As is invariably the case, if my parents were to depart this world and I were left destitute of a family alongside whom to pass existence, I would partake of the chalice of death with a thoroughly joyful heart. This universe is monumentally magnificent, yet an existence spent enduring all variations of noise for the sake of that magnificence is intensely agonizing. This world does not belong to individuals aligned with my disposition. Human beings like myself merely observe this world from an externalized, detached perspective, akin to a traveler. A traveler will far from instigate a revolution within the nation they visit, nor will they pour out their entire existence as though intending to reside there eternally. The identical truth applies to me. To my consciousness, the species known as humanity encountered upon this planet Earth—and the hours spent mingling within their midst—is akin to a journey; an enterprise that contained a multitude of experiences and pleasures, yet remains identical to a bittersweet coffee that one desires to conclude at any given moment. I love coffee intensely, yet I have zero desire to remain marooned in this domain solely for the sake of coffee.

Perhaps this realm does not constitute my true homeland. I merely desire to return to the destination where I rightfully belong. Consequently, absolutely everything transpiring within this domain holds zero monumental consequence. With absolute intensity, I am thoroughly chewing over the reality of a silent, tranquil death.