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In the past few days, the Sun has started showing the tip of its nose. At the beginning of each year, I’m always impatient for Spring to finally arrive. I can’t really put my finger on why, though. The trees are bare and crooked but life is slowly returning, instilling a new breath into everything. Compared to this “re-birth”, Winter always seems so dull and dark. Every year, it boils down to this stereotypical cycle of Summer and Autumn, of life and death, of dusk and dawn. It’s the same for everything, really. We are brought into a world we do not choose, and we have to survive, to exist in it, until we can’t anymore. It’s an old story, as old as humanity itself, and it’s one of the biggest sources of existential crises. But more on that later. I’m very conscious of my youth, and talking about aging and eternity is something that makes me chuckle. I’m still invincible, aren’t I ? Eternity is only a step away. However, my confidence in this is shaken by the day, for some reason. Age creeps and I can see cracks in my skin. It doesn’t scare me, but I can’t stop staring at those lines on my forehead. I will not go on forever, no matter how invincible I think I am. I can hear soft whispers in my ears, even if I try to ignore them as much as possible. What would I even do with aeons of time ? I doubt I would appreciate immortality, on second thought. The more I look at it, there’s always a question, one, on the tip of my tongue, at the verge of my lips, at the back of my head : would I even want to live forever ?

Who wants to live forever, huh ? Freddy Mercury wouldn’t have sung it better. I’ve realised that mortality is usually represented as a curse. Being alive is perceived as a race against illness and harm, for one. Humans are fragile, and their bodies, even more. One of the most popular superhero traits is being invulnerable, and we fantasise on being able to beat any challenge that comes our way. Just a simple scratch, if left untreated, can send us to the hospital for a while. And everyday we are reminded that us mortals are far from becoming gods. We control every aspect of our lives, but the finite nature of it is a source of existential dread. We are so scared of “wasting” time that some of us go insane (what is “wasting” time anyways ?). A lot of us entertain the possibility of immortality as an exit, as a way to finally achieve our condition. And why not ? Living forever sounds fun, after all. I, for one, desperately want to know what could happen so far after me, time and time again. And so many exciting stories are told about this, to try and visualise in what state our world will be in in a few years time, sometimes even centuries or millennia. Science-fiction, for example, basks in such concepts. It usually depicts a variation on immortality, whether it be cryogenic chambers to freeze ourselves and see the future, or a vaccine against the symptoms of aging, or a time machine, in order to transcend time itself. We’re all so curious about what’s going to happen ; inventing a treatment against old age, against death even, would give us an answer to all of these questions that eat us up. I want to see spaceships just like in the movies, and find out what’s at the end of the universe. I want to see everything, read everything, know everything, even. Immortality, in light of death, is the solution to a lot of problems. It’s a miracle, the end of our worries and a dawn of a new age. That is, of course, when you don’t think about the consequences too much.

We are so stuck on this loop of living forever that we sometimes forget t o think about those exact consequences, though. It’s a sci-fi pipe dream, and it will probably always stay that way. Besides, if we go on too long, wouldn’t we lose our minds ? There’s an episode of Doctor Who (geek alert), in season 9, that stuck with me for that reason. In “The Woman Who Lived”, the Doctor (played by Peter Capaldi) stumbles upon an old companion of his, Ashildr (interpreted by Maisie Williams). A few episodes back, he saved her from death, but to the cost of immortality. Ashildr has lived so many human lives that she lost count, and only has her diaries to remember everything (she does read them as fiction, though, so it begs the question : has her own life become science-fiction ?). She goes by “Me”, having forgotten her own name, and only exhibits bitterness and loneliness. She is trapped, denied the right to pass away peacefully and happily. Now, the Doctor himself is a Time Lord, and is immortal by definition ; he is an alien life form, however, and can accommodate easily to this endeavour. Ashildr is trapped in life, and desperate ; she didn’t choose this fate, and is living an existential nightmare, unable to find peace. Much like anyone, she was thrown into life without being consulted first. Sure, she survived death, but as a counterpart she lost that privilege. She has to go on, no matter what, because she had no say in whether she wanted to be saved or not. Now, I will not go into the ethics of such a conundrum, even if a series like Doctor Who always manages to confront us to difficult matters. What I want to insist on is a quote from the Doctor, that impressed me for some reason : 

“People like us [immortals], we go on too long. We forget what matters. The last thing we need is each other. We need the mayflies. See, the mayflies, they know more than we do. They know how beautiful and precious life is  because it’s fleeting.” 

Because mortality, as well as being a curse, is a blessing, to these characters. The Doctor chooses to stay with humanity because to him, human frailty, with its vulnerable bits and pieces, is a strength. We can adapt to any situation, but not this one. We don’t choose whether we are born or not, and those circumstances will have a great impact on how we bide our time. We fantasise about eternity only to revolve back to intensity. We need the music, the warmth, the flashing images. Just like the mayflies, we need the urgency and thrill that only come with brevity.

Because, in the end, those same eternal gods we idolise are completely disconnected from our reality. They can’t love the ways humans do, they can’t live like us, because love is about survival, just like life. It’s about being able to sacrifice something as precious as time to be with who, or what you cherish. It’s throwing everything away for one more second, just like Orpheus did with Eurydice. It’s love that keeps us well, it’s that connection that gives us life. As newborns, no one can survive without the care of others. It’s impossible. We have to rely on the love that is given to us, in both smaller and bigger ways. And yes, there is a definite absurdity in life, because it can only resolve in death (in the grand scheme of things). Yet it’s worth living because of those encounters, of those bonds we weave between one another. Only the mortals can appreciate the ephemeral moments, the way a ray of sun shines on broken glass, the way fresh grass smells of childish freedom. We are connected to each other because of our mortality, not despite it, and trying to surpass this strips us of what makes us whole, making us hollow shells, just like Ashildr has become. And it is only in the absurdity of all these experiences, in the apparent uselessness they convey, that eternity can be found. In art, in science, in writing, even in plain talking, we leave a trace, physical or emotional. We say, “I existed”. And we live on forever. Sure, we can’t always see to it personally. But it matters, it really does. Being out of breath after running from the rain, giggling from sleepiness or listening to birds chirp on a still day, all of this matters.

I used to yearn for immortality. I wanted to see everything, know everything. I realise now that I can do enough with one lifetime, though. It makes me weary to just imagine how long eternity would actually last. It’s empty, and lonely, and I don’t care for that. In the end, it’s just a big cycle, like everything else. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. I scribble silly little words on small bits of paper and stain my fingers with ink. And to me, it’s worth it. Spring will be around the corner, as Winter will lurk in the back of my head. Eternity is in revolutions, in revivals too. It’s in the Sun coming back and in the trees sprouting flowers again. It’s in the many costumes we put on during our lifetimes. And it’s in the taste of piping hot tea on early days, in kitchens at dusk. In the small things.