The fear of dying By Matuba Mahlatjie

I am so scared of death. The thought that one day someone will announce my death gives me heart palpitations. Then I think of many other brave men and women who succumbed to death. Mandela, Nkosi Johnson,  Rosa Parks and the list goes on. Ukufa akunaqhawe. It's a Zulu expression that says in death there are no heroes. When death strickes even the mighty and strong fall. That is how I console myself. 

My struggle now is to live a fulfiling life. It's a struggle because I am still burdened by my past. Painful past. It is not easy because there is a constant reminder I chose to be immune against. When I made that decision I forgot that I am only flesh and blood. Just human. It contradicts the pact I made with myself that I should always be honest about my feelings. I conceal them in my desperate bid for peace.  Inner peace. I also use love as an excuse to hide the scars that remain. 

You probably think I am speaking in parables and wasting your time. Maybe you just want to stop reading and hope I see a shrink before i slit my wrists. Hahahahaha! The opening line of this blog tells you how terrified I am of death. But writing this blog has brought me to the conclusion that maybe I am not scared of death, I just love life too much. Mostly because I enjoy it. There are very few things that are not going right in my life. Too few to mention. But I think you have gathered that I have a past that haunts me every now and then. 

I expose myself like this because I often say to my friends, I don't have space for skeletons in my closet. And those who perceive this post as being vulnerable and weak are probably right too. I am showing off my true human colours. I will die some day, but when it happens, I want to have lived a good life that makes me happier. I want my thoughts, good and bad ones to echo. Maybe not to the whole world, but to those who will feel the void when I am no more.

And while I am still enjoying living, I'd like them to challenge, comfort or even embrace me.