I’m dead I know two things will happen
[1] Some people will celebrate my death. They won’t say it out loud or maybe they will, behind closed doors or in group chats.
They’ll say, “Good for her and good for us too. She was loud. She was inconvenient. She stirred the waters too much.”
Especially among those who see my existence as a challenge to their worldview those who can’t stand that someone like me, once one of them, now speaks freely, questions openly, and refuses to be invisible.
To them, my death will mean one less threat.
One less uncomfortable mirror.
And that’s okay.
Because I didn’t live this life to be liked.
I lived it to be real.
[2] Some people will mourn.
There will be those who cry not just for the person I was, but for the work I left behind.
For the conversations that won’t be had.
For the projects I was building that now feel suddenly fragile.
They may look around and wonder, “What happens next? Who will pick up the torch?”
To those people, my people : I say this in advance:
You don’t need to replace me.
You just need to remember why I did what I did.
The fire was never mine alone. It was always meant to be shared.
I don't know what happens after we die.
No one does no matter how confidently they speak of heavens or hells.
But I do know what I want to leave before I die:
A path others can walk.
A space others can grow in.
A voice echoing not because of volume, but because it said something true.
So yes, some will smile at my departure.
Some will weep.
And others I hope will pick up the work and carry it forward.
In the end, I don't need immortality.
I just want this brief life to mean something while it lasts.
