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What even is A Sad Girl´s Memorial anyway?


This is Girl speaking, short for Sad Girl. I might as well be blabbing into a void, but I would argue that a void has still granted the right to know why it is being disturbed, so that is exactly what I am doing. Answering questions such as what is a sad girl´s memorial anyway? And why am I gathered
here today?

The answer is quite simple: Death and the fear of being outrun by it. I understood the concept of death quite early on, 3 years old to be exact, despite what some psychologists will claim about children´s ability to think in abstract terms. I knew it was a permanent loss, that nothing could reverse it, and that all ones’ functions would be gone with it. That as long as I was thinking, I would still be. So, I thought, a lot, about what the next second would bring me, if I would even be there to experience it. It would keep me up at night because I feared that sleep would push me closer to it, so close that I would never hear from morning birds again. So, instead of resting my mind, I started running. I ran as far as my frail legs could, hoping that even cruelty would have mercy on the weak.  

But as I ran, I grew older. I got taller, stronger, but despite all of this, I started slowing down, until one day I fully stopped and turned around to a stage where I no longer cared for the end. The possibility of losing my only chance at life, started looking awfully similar to the monster under my bed. Existence besides nonexistence, it was all the same to me. The value of being a sentient being was reduced to insignificance. I was standing on a crossroad, waiting for the wind to choose which path to take, indifferent to where it would lead me. It did not matter, because wherever I went, I would not escape the unbearable sadness within me. For every flower which bloomed, I only saw its inevitable withering, the suffering of every living organism striving to survive. My own suffering, which seemed to have no end.

This kept on and on, until I fell in love, not with a singular person, but with the goodness which persists even in one’s darkest hours, the beauty which the world has to offer even if it is just for a short while. I started feeling hopeful, that I too could bring good, water flowers during drought and pick earthworms up from the road during rainy season, extend each one’s chance at life. But with hope, came a little girl who never stopped running. I became hyperaware of how easily it all could be gone. For each hug and precious moment spent, I would have this urge to cry, fearing it would be the last. Death had never been closer, it felt like. 

So, that is what brings me here. If I am to be gone tomorrow, I want there to be a piece of me left which cannot be killed. I want the girl who ran around with a pencil in one hand and a camera in the other, to know that it all mattered. I have committed to lots of projects, none of it to be proud of, not enough to put it out to the public at the very least. Nonetheless, it is still mine. I could never be genius, but I can still show what I had in me, for the time I was. This, for now, is the only way I know how to be anything but a fading memory. 

Please forgive me for speaking a bunch of nonsense, but the sense of urgency is making me think less of my words and more about marking my presence.  None of this will probably ever be found, but it still can be, if one search long enough, and that is exactly how I want it to be. So, hi, if you are here, feel free to look around, preferably quietly. 

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