We’re here because we’re here…
I must admit, it was difficult not to give in to the temptation of writing a very rough draft and asking ChatGPT to turn it into a masterpiece, but I won’t do that today.
Cheers to being human in the age of AI. 🥂
If you’re unfamiliar with “We’re here because we’re here,” it’s a chant that I learned about from John Green in my favourite podcast of all time, The Anthropocene Reviewed. You can only imagine the joy and warmth I felt hearing it in the Turtles All the Way Down film adaptation (go watch it!).
So, this was a chant sung by World War I soldiers in the trenches to the tune of Aud Lang Syne.
Okay, where are you going with this?
This song has multiple interpretations I think but i’ll stick to this one.
… And although it is, of course, a profoundly nihilistic song written about the modernist hell of repetition, singing that song with Amy, I could always see the hope in it. It became a statement that we are here — meaning that we are together, and not alone. And it’s also a statement that we are, that we exist, and it’s a statement that we are here, that a series of astonishing unlikelihoods has made us possible and here possible. We might never know why we are here, but we can still proclaim in hope that we are here. I don’t think such hope is foolish or idealistic or misguided. I believe that hope is, for lack of a better word, true.
- John Green, The Anthropocene Reviewed
Here’s another quote from that podcast:
We live in hope — that life will get better, and more importantly that it will go on, that love will survive even though we will not. As Emily Dickinson put it, hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all.
- John Green, The Anthropocene Reviewed
If you have the time, here’s John going on and on about hope for one full minute, and this particular YouTube short was perfect the moment I saw it:
Where are you going with this?
I think you can see my obsession with this writer, so I’ll stop here, but there’s a video at the end of this if you’d like to listen to John talk for 3 mins about hope again. :)
So, the actual thing is …
On the 27th of June 2023 (today is the 27th of June 2024) was the last time I spoke to my mum and hugged her in person, and I came back home that evening with a huge weight on my chest because I knew something was wrong and there was an extra feeling of helplessness as there was nothing I could do about it. I thought I was just anxious.
Death isn’t something you think is possible for your parents when you’re 23 years old; well, at least, I don’t think so. I have self-diagnosed anxiety, and have I thought about people I care about dying? Yes, yes, I have. Thank you, anxiety, for helping me experience pain that hasn’t happened, but this one did happen.
It’s been a year since she passed away, and grief has been such a chaotic experience with sudden outbursts that I don’t think I can describe the feelings with words.
The thing is, I’m used to hearing people talk about their loved ones who have passed away with such positivity. My case, on the other hand, is that I don’t know what to tell you.
You see, the relationship with my mother was very complicated. She was my greatest cheerleader, and at other times, I would question that. She supported me when I would take on creative pursuits as a child and would even review my stories; she asked me to write more. I never took writing too seriously, I saw it as a hobby that I didn’t need to pressure myself to be good at so it’s quite funny to me that I write full-time now. And my mum never got to see that.
One recurring conversation we used to have was about how she’d dance at my wedding, the outfit she’d wear, and the grandchildren she’d take care of. That’s never going to happen now, and knowing that that’s a big never is what hurts the most because feuds could be something resolved, but death is irreversible and final.
This is supposed to be me venting, and I really do not know where I’m going with this, but I think I’ve come to terms with grief, feeling like sadness, anger, and sometimes just…. nothing.
Random thought: I remember there was a project about keeping your loved ones alive with AI by training models with the loved one’s voice recordings or something. At the time I learned about it, I felt I couldn’t quite get the need for that because I hadn’t experienced the grief of losing a loved one. My mum has been dead for about a year now and my mind hasn’t changed, it’s still a no for me but people can want what they want and who knows if i’ll change my mind next year.
A weird coping mechanism I adapted was saying to myself that my mum’s death was a canon event. If you’re unfamiliar with canon events:
A canon event is something that happens to you that shapes and defines who you are. The phrase gained popularity with the movie Spider-man: Across the Spider-verse
Am I Spiderwoman? Perhaps…okay, no. But I’ll hold on to this canon event idea until it becomes cringe to me or maybe it never will.
Do you see how I’ve managed to link 3 different works in one blog post in a way that probably doesn’t make sense?
Anywho, the summary of this is:
- I miss my mum
- Death and grief suck
- Grief is a complicated feeling, and we’re complicated people living complicated lives
- I’m holding on to hope because it’s the thing with feathers?
And life is beautiful and scary and awesome and tiring, but I’m here because I’m here, and I’ll try to make the most of that.
Here’s another Spiderman reference that gives me hope: I’m not the only one. From my interactions with the awesome people so far, everything will be okay.
I’ll try my best to continue to be hopeful and see joy even though I’m allowed to feel grief and sadness.
That’s all for now.
I don’t think I’ve ever published something like this on my blog before so this is a first. It might disappear or I'll keep it here as a reminder to myself.
Here’s more of John talking about hope:
PS: While living and being in the moment is important, take as many pictures as you can. :)
