Our Self-Written Obituaries – Aksa Ashraf, Somewhere in Kashmir, the Clichéd Paradise
The 185th death.
[Text and photos sent by Aksa Ashraf]
Death finally took Aksa Ashraf. Nobody knew how?
She endured herself as much as she could and survived through and through at many phases of being herself. She had died by the intoxication of her ownself, at sunset, her only favourite time of the day. She was here TO LIVE. But she EXISTED. SURVIVED. To hold onto a while.
She never understood, why was she the way she was. She was loud, obnoxious, uncertain, flawed, extremely unpredictable and detached. She was seen clicking pictures of skies, sunsets and leafless trees, if not hurling the shards of her broken self to her own people, making them bleed. She was so full of her own complexities, confusions and chaos, that people thought her to be cold but little did they know she carried summers in that cold heart. She still had problem in expressing and crying the tears of grief and happiness.
She is survived by her few people, books, a bag full of memories and souvenirs, pictures of sunsets, her letters for her own people and the bits and pieces of her here and there and in each of them.
Our Self-Written Obituaries invites people to write their obituary in 200 words. The idea is to share with the world how you will like to be remembered after you are gone. (May you live a long life, of course!) Please mail me your self-obit at firstname.lastname@example.org.