Memento Mori

Marina Karella
Patmos, 1995
Resin and bronze
Yokohama Center, Japan

/məˈmenˌtō ˈmôrē/
n., Latin
Remember, you will die.

Such a grim counterpart to a more popular Latin saying, carpe diem ("sieze the day"), or its millennial version, YOLO: You only live once.

YOLO tells you that this is your one life so go ahead and tick all the boxes in your bucket list to your heart's content. Memento mori reminds you of the transient nature of this earthly life and all that is in it. Two sides of the same coin.

Whichever way you say it, it means one thing - we all are given this one life in this world. Right here, right now. And one day it will end. The question is, how do you choose to live it?

I often reflect on this question, and I was thinking about it that afternoon as I roamed around Yokohama alone. No one in the world knew exactly where I was. Not that I knew either, but the thought crossed my mind that it is very likely that I was only going to be in that very spot only in that very moment and never again.

Do I choose to post it on social media? No. The world today is too caught up in showing everyone else that they are living their best lives. A scroll through social media feeds show you mostly people's highlight reels. YOLO. To me it all feels shallow, empty, dead. Ironic, considering that people post things to show what great lives they are living.

I am saying this not to sound nihilistic or to discredit people's achievements or things that they find pleasing or enjoyable enough to share to strangers online. It's just that people rarely share about the things in between, the challenges behind the achievements, the motivations behind the actions. In other words, the things that are real, the things that make you human. But then again, one shouldn't expect to find those things on social media. That is not where lives are truly lived after all.

Remember, you will die. I was sharply reminded of this fact early this month upon the death of a friend whom I was closest to at one point in life. Ten years ago before our high school graduation, she wrote me a letter thanking me for saving her [academic] life and saying that we should have one last chapter in "Krizelle and Sophia's Bangag Moments and Adventures". She lamented the thought of us seeing each other for the last time that March. Ten years later, I saw her again, last March. She was barely conscious and didn't see me that time, or ever again.

Do I regret those ten years in between where we somehow lost touch and never caught up again until her last moments? Somewhat. But that is life. And I swear in third year high school, we lived. The halls and fields and abandoned corners of Pisay will give testament to that. For now I am thankful to have been given the chance to see her again that one last time. Until the next adventure, Sophia.

Remember, you will die. Perhaps standing in that spot alone overlooking Minato Mirai was incredible to me at that moment because it felt like such a unique experience. Because we get caught up in the routine of everyday life that we find it too boring already. The same roads, the same buildings, the same people. Oblivious of the fact that change is constant and none of this is permanent.

Meditating on your mortality is only depressing if you miss the point. It is in fact a tool to create priority and meaning, to create real perspective and urgency. To treat our time as a gift and not waste it on the trivial and vain.

Tell that person you love them. Better yet, show it. Go visit a museum with your father. Prepare breakfast for your family. Pick up your cousin from the airport. Figure out your morals and do something that gives life meaning for you. Apply for that job, that PhD position and find a cure for that disease or disorder. Write a book. Build a family. Be curious. Ask questions. Do good. Live.

Remember, you will die. While I did not intend to post much about my trip to Yokohama last month, I did take photos to remember it by. I was scrolling through them today while contemplating on writing about death and life and everything in between, and I came across a curious photo of a sculpture at a plaza near Queen's Square. It isn't very well-known, and I had to dig a bit to find out more about it.

The sculpture is entitled "Patmos", which is apparently the name of a Greek island in the Aegean Sea. It is famous for being the location where John the Revelator was given a vision from Jesus and wrote the Book of Revelation. The island is mentioned in the Bible only once, in Revelation 1:9.

How fitting.

"And I saw the dead, great and small, standing before the throne, and books were opened. Then another book was opened, which is the book of life. And the dead were judged by what was written in the books, according to what they had done."
  -  Revelation 20:12

Remember, you will die.
So remember to live.

Memento mori, ergo memento vivere.