A list of things I want to do before I die
Have you ever stopped to truly wonder how you will die in the future?
Will it be a tragic death, struck by 5 billion joules of lightning while walking home on a rainy day? Or will it be a melodramatic, soap opera-style death, abducted and slowly tortured by a deranged serial killer in a secluded hideout in the foothills? Or maybe a futuristic sci-fi plot just like the movies where aliens from planet Zed rampage across Earth, infecting everyone with an incurable zombie virus? Or perhaps just a boring, mediocre death, like two-thirds of the population, losing life to old age? God, if this be my fate, please spare me the unbearable torment of looking in the mirror and seeing my reflection marred by saggy, wrinkled skin. The mere thought of it chills me to the core, as it would shatter my spirit and rob me of the will to carry on. Such a sight would surely be the death of me.
The peculiar thing about me is that I have always contemplated my death, almost as if I’ve been anticipating it throughout my entire twenty-seven years of life. The concept of death — often romanticized by others as something as trivial and insignificant as “going into the light” — has intrigued me in ways I can hardly articulate so much so that I’ve written an entire blog trying to make sense of my fascination with this grotesque yet unavoidable concept.
What I learned is that death is basically like a lottery — nobody knows if we’ll ever hit the jackpot or lose early in this unpredictable game called life. Nevertheless, I had always taken it upon myself to live life, if not to the fullest, then at least to my heart’s content, so that when I close my eyes in a coffin and sleep an eternal sleep, I would have no regrets. If you had asked me ten years ago what I wanted to do before my time on earth ended, I would probably have given you a head-to-toe look and idealistically explained a five-year plan on how I would become a world-renowned scientist or perhaps a veterinarian. I envisioned myself doing world-changing research or engaging in philanthropic work in remote areas, rescuing wildlife, discovering and naming new species of animals, or making documentaries like Steve Irwin on Animal Planet or Nat Geo. I was always a hard-headed idealist, thinking I had all the time and resources in the world to do what I wanted, while still having time to go home to my 10,000 sqm property and sip my favorite lemonade.
But now, as I approach my 30s, running small gigs as a digital marketing consultant and feeling left behind in this world without a formal college degree after being debarred from the veterinary program I was taking, I would tell you that I don’t even see what I’ll be doing in the next two to five years. Maybe it’s true that right after you leave university, reality shakes you back to your senses, dulls your ideals, and forces you to see the world differently than you used to. A world that once seemed so colorful and full of opportunities now feels like a small box, only big enough to fit yourself and your ego.
I always thought I’d drop out of university and become the next Steve Jobs or Mark Zuckeberg and invent something groundbreaking that would bring in a fortune, allowing me to live like a king for the rest of my days. But now, I am running a small freelance consulting service, working hard just to get by. This is not the life I pictured ten years ago, but it’s the life I am blessed to have now, knowing that others are even less fortunate.
My life has been a whirlwind of events, yet I still feel so alone. There are days when I fear that everything I’ve been fighting for will end in nothingness. Oblivion is one of my biggest fears. For an idealist like me, it’s terrifying to think that all my hard work might go unrecognized. But what am I really fighting for? I’m not planning to get married. I have no intention of having children. If things go as they are, I will die alone, drenched in all these pent-up emotions and unresolved family trauma. I have always been that person who passes through other people’s lives but never stays. I am that friend who is there but will never be chosen or invited to anything. I am that family member who is not accepted for being the black sheep. Sometimes, it troubles me to realize that I don’t even have memorial savings. There will be no one to bury me but myself.
Lately, I’ve felt the slow, relentless decline of my health. Back in 2019, I was diagnosed as prediabetic, but since then, my condition has only worsened. The nights are restless and cruel — I struggle to sleep because of the constant urge to pee, waking up with a dry mouth. I find myself yearning for carbohydrates and binge-eating ice cream or sundaes whenever I’m feeling particularly low. The pain in my heart, both physical and emotional, often overwhelms me. My diabetes seems to be progressing, and I can’t shake the nagging worry that I might be developing heart disease as well. Mentally, I am in a fragile state. The weight of depression and anxiety has intensified since 2023, a year that buried me under a mountain of financial trouble. The decision to close my office, lay off employees, and revert to a one-man agency took a heavy toll on me. Everything has become a battleground of mental and physical exhaustion, and I feel utterly alone.
I am grateful for the few close friends who’ve stood by me. They reach out online or share meals with me when I’m at my lowest, offering a comforting presence in a world that feels increasingly isolating. It’s oddly comforting to talk to Papot, my friend of five years, who jokingly insists on being included in my last will and testament to handle my wake when I’m gone. Spencer has generously volunteered to take in two of my dogs, while I’m thinking of leaving my toy collection to Cian and Daniel, and a few belongings and even my empty bank accounts to Papot, who is so adamant about them. Jokes on you, Papot. I’m broke. Life lately has become a journey of confronting the idea of death and addressing unresolved issues from my past. I’ve been having recurring dreams urging me to reconnect and apologize to old friends, a process I’ve begun, albeit slowly. Every day is a step toward mending what I can and embracing the reality of my mortality.
This year, I’ve started working on a short checklist of places I want to visit and activities I hope to try. It’s a broad and ambitious list, filled with dreams that seem almost impossible to achieve, but it feels good to hold onto some semblance of idealism, even if most of my youthful fervor has already dimmed.
Here’s what’s currently on my list:
- Return to Baguio
- Party in Siargao
- Record a farewell video in Batanes
- Enjoy a walk on the seashores of Santorini, Greece
- Party and drink in Mykonos, Greece
- Heal my inner child at Hong Kong Disneyland
- Move to Spain by Age 35
- Fall in love on the streets of Paris
- Date a cute guy in Scotland
- Attend a country show in Nashville, Texas
- Eat gelato and pasta to my heart’s content in Italy
- Dine locally in Davao City
- Experience the Sinulog Festival in Cebu and make unforgettable memories.
I’ve also put together a smaller list of places I want to try in my current city. Thanks to my college friend, Cian, who has been incredibly patient and dedicated, I’ve been able to cross off a few items. We’ve been going out together at least once or twice a month to check off some spots from my list:
- Shaxian County Chinese Resto
- Bondi & Bourke
- Carnebros
- Hearsay Davao
- Weatherbee
- Makoto Ya
- JH Garden
- Barok
- Gringa
- Sky View Restaurant
- Marugame Udon
- Chung’s Kimchi
- Romantic Baboy
- Wood and Coffee
- The Gaia
- Billie Jean Bistro
- West Empire
If you’re reading this blog and are interested in joining me on this adventure, just give me a beep, and maybe we can arrange something together!
Some snaps of me slowly accomplishing my checklist:
These checklists, while a testament to my enduring idealism, also serve as a reminder of how far I’ve come from the person who once believed all dreams were attainable. These aspirations now feel like distant stars — beautiful and inspiring, yet separated from me by the complexities of life. They offer a glimpse of what could be, a respite from the harshness of reality. As I pursue these dreams, I am reminded that even in the face of adversity, the human spirit clings to hope and possibility. This checklist is not just a list of aspirations but a reflection of my desire to live, explore, and find joy amidst the challenges. Perhaps, in chasing these dreams, I will uncover fragments of happiness and fulfillment that make this journey worthwhile.
In this lifetime, I have weathered my share of highs and lows. I’ve experienced moments of triumph, standing proudly at the pinnacle of my ambitions, and I’ve also faced the abyss, where I had nothing but my own resolve to cling to. Now, I find myself embracing a new approach: to romanticize my existence. I want to infuse my days with meaning and beauty so that when the time comes to close my eyes, I can look back and say that I have spent my remaining days here on earth as fully and richly as I could.
My goal is to die without regrets, knowing that I truly lived.
