Will Anyone Cry When You are No More?

Does that even matter?

Last week, in a meeting with a friend and a colleague, in a heated moment, I verbalised a desire that I couldn’t acknowledge before — “I want to become a limitless well of positivity.”

In the days since, I’ve ruminated on that. Positivity, by itself, is empty. To become meaningful, positivity must be forged through pain. It must be tempered by loneliness, and cooled by love.

“Woah, slow down cowboy. Pretentious much? You’re 28. Cool your heels.”

At 28, I’ve been repeatedly called mature beyond my years. I’ve been thanked for being a friend and a mentor and a confidante.

Also by 28, I’ve spent many nights cold and alone looking for someone to talk to while I suffer another wave of hopeless depression or shivering anxiety.

I wonder if anyone will cry when I die. Probably not, I tell myself. And of course you might read this and be moved to comment, “of course I will.” You might try to be kind.

True kindness comes unprompted. It is a compel that calls to you.

But if I don’t receive true kindness, do I begrudge those whom I expected it from? Of course not. That would be a very transactional way to live.

If I cannot receive kindness from others, it is maybe because I don’t see it. Or maybe I reject it when it comes. Nevertheless, in that situation, I must learn to be kind to myself. I must be my own number one fan.

You cannot give unless you have something to give, and you must find a way to fill yourself.

Will you cry when I am no more? Who cares? That is not for me to know. What I know is that I must cry for me. I must fill myself up.

Because I will become a limitless well of kindness.

This is a bite-sized essay I wrote on my phone, standing in my room at 2 AM.

Original photo by Joshua Earle on Unsplash