Why would a man with talent (he was an artist), with a cause (a political activist), with a mission (he launched a graffiti campaign against dictatorship, back in the day) and enough courage to fight for what he believed in (instead of spewing out ineffective vitriol like some of do) decide kill himself? Why did he do it? What single straw made him decide his life was no longer worth living? What made him stop fighting and simply - in one final, irrevocable decision - give in to the inevitable?
Like Asim, many of us out there are walking around the peripheries of disillusionment. Life hands out disappointment as if dispensing toffees to hungry children. There seems to be no way to escape unharmed, intact, whole from the experience of living. And the scars, we treat them like wounds of war. Some of us hide them, others nurture them. Either way, we put them up in a special place where can gaze upon them from time to time and remember the experiences that put them there.
But in moments like these I truly wonder what it's all about.
Why are we fighting? Why would we not, like he seems to have done, look at life in the eye - smile - and escape it's dreary reality. I know we don't know what comes after death. But to tell you the truth we don't really know what comes next in life either. What makes us think reality is better than the alternative? Is the simple fact that we 'live' enough to convince us that despite all the pain, life is better than what comes after?
Is taking your own life a symbol of defeat? Or, like Nietzsche says, is it the only 'real' choice a person has in this world. It somewhat unnerves me that I'm thinking all of this through. More, it unnerves me that I mourn a choice made by someone who I never knew. But I do. And even as I do I seek to understand it. For Asim, it seems that to live, or not to live, THAT was the question.
His answer, is evident.
Now the question is: what is mine?