EXISTENCE

If You Lived Forever, Could You Go Back Home?

On the search for home and meaning

Captured by my mom. This place is almost unrecognizable now.

Picture this: by some miraculous quirk of nature, you’re not just immortal but eternally so. At first glance, it seems like a dream come true, but lurking beneath the surface lie profound nightmares.

I ponder the fate of those I love, knowing they will age and pass on. It’s not just the natural course of life — my elders, my parents — but the unnatural sorrow of witnessing my own children’s demise. To see them grow old, wither away, and perhaps suffer from agonizing ailments.

Alternatively, I might flee before such heartache. Because of my eternal youthful appearance, I would have to run away. I would have to abandon them, neglect them, and not carry the real responsibilities of motherhood.

I’m sure that if humanity knew about my gift, they would try to kill me, investigate me to the depths, and put me in some museum as if I were a rare animal.

Thus, every decade or so, I’d be forced to relocate. A woman burdened by the guilt of a lifetime — of failed marriages, filial duties, motherhood — condemned to eternally repeat the cycle.

Traveling would become my refuge, a means to escape my heavy conscience and ensure my safety.