The Purest Autobiography

In their lifetime, people cannot tell so many things to anyone, despite deeply wanting to.

You too have many words in your life that no one else knows but you, and no one will know until your death; even after death, most of these words will never be known to anyone, though some words desperately need to be shared. People yearn to speak, yet they cannot find anyone to speak to. Who says there are so many people in this world?!

Many people want certain things to remain unknown while they're alive. This is profoundly beautiful. A beautiful suicide note or a hidden notebook... sorrowful reasons for death, deeply secret pain—these make a person's death even more mysterious.

Those whom society considers to have died natural deaths—many of them actually murdered their own souls long before their physical death. So their notebooks are, in truth, nothing but suicide notes.

Much continues to come and go even after death—whether that death is spiritual or physical.

I have an intense desire to write some anonymous letters; no one will ever know who the recipients of those letters are. Until my death, people will not know many of my words—I will not let them know. Not everyone should be allowed to know everything.

I want a death of my own choosing; the only way to achieve death by one's own will, at one's own convenience, is suicide. I read the final writings of those who commit suicide with great interest, again and again. At least they get to say their last words before leaving. What could be more beautiful than this? But those who die suddenly don't even realize they have died.

A suicide note is a person's purest autobiography.

Imagine you decide you will die tomorrow. You get the grand opportunity to call your most beloved person for final words, to eat your favorite food one last time, to meet your dearest person once more, to speak your final beloved words. You'll listen to your favorite song one more time, kiss your favorite book once more.

A person is leaving for eternity, they understand this and have done all their beloved things for the last time. Can you imagine?

If you die in an accident, you don't even get to eat your favorite food one last time. How painful is that, can you imagine?

This is why one needs to live a few days in their own way before death, to fulfill their final wishes. Death is the end of everything.

Does this seem scattered? Let me put it more simply. Our sufferings actually give birth to suicide notes, one by one. Most of these are never written anywhere, so to the world, no death except suicide is truly suicide. But think—when a person dies a thousand deaths every day through pain and suffering, isn't this death of the soul something? What is this death but a silent suicide?

When a person one day forgets to try to take care of themselves, or remembers but doesn't do it—is there any wellness at all in their continued existence? Some people are admitted to hospitals when sick, while others live their entire lives in the hospital of anguish, despite appearing outwardly healthy.

In the hospital of anguish, there are no doctors—only patients. When people die, the hospital hands over their dead body to relatives, but in the hospital of anguish, people carry their own dead body and live... moment by moment.

It takes courage to commit suicide and leave, but it takes reckless bravery to accept silent suicide and continue living. In this sense, most people are tremendously brave, though perhaps they never understand this until death.

After everything, staying is more beautiful than leaving.