After a long hiatus, a reflection of the past few years, assembled from texts I randomly wrote on my Notes app and footage that also I filmed randomly. I am now ready to share them with the world, and it ended up taking the form of a short film.
You can find both the final text and the film below – the latter will be available online only until January 31st, 2024.
I have a routine on the plane: I read every pamphlet, I listen to every instruction, and I know them by heart.
I read my incantation. I watch a movie. I refuse the exit seat, because who wants to handle that responsibility?
Although I’m not scared of flying, I actually enjoy it. But it’s a precaution, a superstition.
I’m not scared of flying, but I’m scared of other things. I’m scared of many other things, maybe of everything.
I’m scared of mice. Rats. Snakes. But rats more.
I’m scared of the sky and what’s beyond. I’m scared of the deep waters. Of the sea. Of darkness.
Of people, of crowds, of emptiness. Of being falsely accused.
Of violence. Of wars. Of murder.
Of death.
I’m scared of death above all.
I’m scared of everything.
“I’m surprised I made it to 30” I heard this in a film once, and I haven’t been the same since.
I never thought I’d make it to 30 either. Growing old seems impossible, something I won’t achieve. I never thought I’d know what it feels like.
I always thought I would be my family’s first tragedy.
Do you feel the same?
Is death always on your mind as well?
Do you also wake up screaming in the middle of the night to scare death away, just in case it is lurking around the corner?
I’m scared of death. Yes, but I don’t want to be eternal. That seems equally scary.
I always think about my end. I know that I don’t want to feel any pain, and I don’t want to know long before it happens. I would overthink. But I don’t want it as a complete surprise. I want to be ready, say my goodbyes, and wrap up my things.
Do you also torture yourself by imagining scenarios of your death?
Mine usually sum up to two options: falling asleep at the wheel (and it’s happened before), or literally dying out of fear of death. That the fear outgrows death itself. I don’t know where this fear comes from, but these thoughts are very scary
That’s why I’m always playing. I play in virtual cities. I ride their virtual trains and daydream of long journeys. I build virtual cities where I’m the immortal mayor and creator. I control everything. I control graveyards and crematoriums. When a citizen dies in my virtual city, things are very organized: a hearse will leave a death care facility, drive to the body’s location, and bring it back. The cemeteries of my virtual city will eventually fill up, and I just empty them.
Like a reset button.
I think I’m a good person. I try to be a good person. Although I’ve killed every plant in my house, and I’ve killed a few insects in moments of rage. But I always deeply regret it.
I turned 33 this year. A milestone.
Time to get serious about life, time to accomplish something, time to grow up.
33. My Jesus year.
Happiness scares me. I’m always worried when I’m happy. I always think of the aftermath, the major downfall that I’m about to experience once this feeling of fleeting happiness vanishes.
I saw a rat the other day. I stayed immobile in the car for 20 minutes after it left. And I started thinking about the future, and I remembered that I once read that because of climate change, rats will invade the earth. They will be the only survivors. Everything will die and they will stay.
Such a terrifying image: a world full of rats.
Honestly, death seems easier than this.
For a second, I was convinced. But thoughts of death came back, and I started spiraling. It’s weird how death seems to simultaneously be the hardest and the easiest thing. Death seems to simultaneously be the problem and the salvation.
We can’t win with death.
I’m scared of violence. I memorize every image I see. Sometimes imagining the footage without actually seeing it is enough for me to memorize it.
We start wars as if we can reset the whole thing if we die.
We invent weapons as if using them won’t backfire. As if the weapons aren’t killing others.
Why is it so easy to kill each other?
Why do we hate each other so much? Where does the hate come from? Why aren’t we united by the tragic ending that awaits all of us? Or did you all make peace with the idea, and I missed the memo? You all made peace with dying, and I’m the only one who can’t sleep at night?
Or do people kill because they’re afraid to be killed? Is it the reason we do anything? Because we’re mortals, afraid of our fate? Or is it because we’ve forgotten we’re mortals?
I wish I knew how to forget.
Tales On Paper Planes 