Some believe that death is merely a turning point from the fleeting life toward an eternal existence in paradise, while others insist it is the end. But in my case… death was the reason for my rebirth.
When I was a child, my mother passed away due to a newly discovered disease known as "M.S."—short for "Sudden Death." It is a condition where the body suddenly collapses without any prior warning, sending the person into an eternal coma. Most importantly, it had no cure.
After my mother remained in a coma for years without any sign of recovery, my father—who had spent those years searching for a cure as a doctor—decided to end her prolonged slumber once and for all.
The life-support machines were removed, and she was granted a merciful death.
For some reason, her funeral was devoid of emotion. No one felt sadness. No one cried. Only silence and a sense of disappointment filled the atmosphere—perhaps because, in our minds, she had already been gone ever since she fell into that coma.
Before she fell ill, my mother lived a life filled with love and warmth. I was the only child of two young doctors who lived in comfort and were highly respected by society.
My mother had always loved traveling across the world. It had been her dream since she was a child.
After learning about her illness, she gave up that dream. The doctors told her she had only six months left before her body would completely collapse. That news struck us like a thunderbolt, splitting both my father and me apart emotionally. Yet, for some reason, my mother remained optimistic. She decided to spend most of her remaining time with us.
She would always say that she would live on in my heart forever.
When her condition worsened, she refused to go to the hospital and insisted on staying at home with us until the very end. However, as her condition deteriorated further, my father eventually convinced her to be admitted to the hospital.
On that day, before she left, she told me words I will never forget:
"Live… live, and ask yourself: Am I truly alive?"
At the time, I did not understand the meaning behind those words… unfortunately.
That was the last time I ever spoke to her. That very evening, my mother fell into a coma from which she would never wake…
After her final death and burial beneath the earth, my father's personality changed. He became stricter and more rigid in his treatment of me. All his warmth and affection disappeared, replaced by cold severity.
Despite everything, I never held any resentment toward him. Even at my young age, I understood that he was in deep pain over my mother's death. Knowing his state, I always tried to become someone he could be proud of—someone who met his expectations.
I worked hard and studied diligently. I was always the top student in my class—the prodigy, the polite boy, the perfect son of a successful doctor. My life appeared bright and only grew more brilliant… yet, deep inside, I felt an emptiness.
My mother had said she would live on in my heart. Those words were etched into my mind, making me feel responsible for carrying her spirit, her character, and her dreams with me.
At one point, I decided to confront my fear and tell my father what I truly wanted. I gathered the courage to do so while we were sitting at the dinner table… and I wish I hadn't.
I smiled at him innocently and spoke honestly:
"I want to dedicate my life to fulfilling my mother's dream… I want to travel the world."
My father's expression immediately reflected deep disappointment, and the atmosphere grew tense.
"They say every family has someone who brings shame and tarnishes its name… I never believed that before, but it seems you are that person in our family."
A heavy pressure weighed on my chest, as though a spear had been driven straight into my heart.
"What will people say? The son of two successful doctors abandoning the family path and choosing to chase such trivial things… what a disgrace."
I began to feel suffocated as he continued his harsh words:
"An embarrassment to the family."
"Pathetic."
"A blight on society."
With every word, my heartbeat grew faster. I was on the verge of breaking down and crying. After finishing his tirade, my father stood up and left the room.
From that day onward, he ignored me for a long time. He refused to speak to me and would only look at me with cold, emotionless eyes.
After that incident, I decided to abandon my "foolish" dream and move forward on the path my family expected… to become a doctor.
To everyone around me, I was the top student in university—the diligent, talented, ambitious individual walking the road to success.
Yet… I did not choose that path.
One night, after a celebration hosted by a university acquaintance, a girl asked me to walk her home.
I accepted, since she lived near the house I was renting. Damn… I can barely even remember her face now.
We exchanged casual conversation—empty, polite chatter.
She would say things like: "Wow, you're amazing, handsome, and successful in life. You're truly a role model."
And I would respond diplomatically: "Haha, no… anyone can do better than me. I'm just an ordinary person."
Ah… I hate myself every time I remember how fake that conversation was.
Suddenly, while we were walking, I felt a sharp pain in my head, followed by a loss of balance. The ground seemed to tilt beneath me, and before long, I collapsed and lost consciousness.
When I opened my eyes again, I quickly realized I was in a hospital, lying on a bed with an IV inserted into my arm.
As soon as the young nurse noticed I had awakened, she hurried out of the room to call a doctor. After a few minutes, a doctor entered. His expression was serious—almost intimidating.
He approached me, sat down beside the bed, and spoke in an unusual tone:
"How are you feeling, sir? Are you in any pain?"
Thinking about it, I didn't feel any pain. The sharp headache had vanished as if it had never existed.
"No… I don't feel any pain."
The doctor's tone suddenly changed:
"To be honest… it seems you are unaware of your condition. Keeping it from you won't help."
Something in his tone made me feel a deep sense of fear, but I tried to respond with sarcasm to break the heavy atmosphere.
"What are you talking about, doctor? Why do you speak as if I'm going to die?"
Heh… the irony. Because I truly was.
"You are infected with M.S."
The same disease that took my mother… and now it had come for me as well.
I felt a sudden shock, and my mind struggled to accept reality. I nearly lost control.
"Stop talking nonsense… what are you saying? I'm a medical student!"
At that moment, I realized the doctor was telling the truth. The only way to confirm this disease is through precise medical tests.
My voice suddenly grew calm, almost lifeless:
"Did you run the tests?"
"Yes."
I'm going to die… I was still in shock and panic, but I forced myself to ask:
"How much time do I have left?"
"One year at most."
One year!
My anxiety and fear surged. I felt like I was losing my sanity. Even breathing became difficult, and a heavy pressure crushed my chest. At that moment, I completely broke down, tears streaming down my face like a child, while I cursed this cruel fate.
So… here I am, already counted among the dead.