Flicker and Flame: How Death Teaches Us to Live

For the longest time, I found myself writing about how weird life is .. chaotic .. complicated ..unpredictable .. messy. At times poetic, at other times, completely absurd. There was always something elusive about it—something I couldn't quite grasp but couldn’t ignore either. It felt like walking through a fog where the path keeps shifting, even as you take each step forward. That weirdness, that mystery, has defined my understanding of life for years.

But time has a way of offering new vantage points. With every passing year, life invites you to re-read the same chapters with wiser eyes. The strange becomes familiar. The complicated becomes clear—or at least clearer. And what once seemed like chaos reveals itself to be a different kind of order.

My definition of life has been slowly evolving. It's no longer just “weird” or “complicated.” Now, I see life as weird—but beautiful.

And a big part of that beauty lies in the one thing we all fear, the thing we try so hard to ignore or outrun: death.

A candle feels like the perfect metaphor. You light it, and it brings warmth, glow, and comfort. It flickers. It dances. It changes the energy of a room. But in the very act of shining, it is dying. The wax melts. The wick shortens. Its purpose is fulfilled in its gradual disappearance.

Life is much the same. We spend our days burning—working, loving, struggling, celebrating, grieving, growing. In doing so, we create light for ourselves and others. We give off energy. And as we do, we inch closer to the end.

This isn’t meant to sound grim. In fact, I find something deeply liberating in it. When you embrace the fact that life is finite, suddenly everything becomes more precious. A sunrise isn’t just routine—it’s a gift. A hug isn’t just an action—it’s a fleeting connection. A conversation, a meal, a laugh—all of these moments are time-limited, and because of that, they shimmer with meaning.

Death, then, isn’t just the end. It’s the context that makes life worth living. It’s the boundary that gives life its shape, its urgency, its color.

So here’s my new definition of life, still evolving but clearer than before:

Life is a burning candle—finite, fragile, flickering. But it is also luminous, warm, and beautiful because of that very fragility. It is weird, yes, because it’s both joyful and heartbreaking .. Because it contains beginnings and endings .. Because it demands we let go, even as we hold tight .. Because it asks us to make meaning while knowing none of it lasts forever.

But weird doesn’t mean bad. Weird just means .. human. Real. Raw. Poetic.

Burn, not dim, while time remains,
Let purpose course through all your veins.
No one escapes the final night,
But some go out still casting light.

Each breath you take—don’t take for granted,
This soil we walk is not enchanted.
It holds no promise but today,
So speak your truth, and dance, and stay.

Stay present in the fleeting now,
Let go of “why” and focus on “how.”
How can I love? How can I give?
How do I make this moment live?

For candles aren’t for hoarding flame,
They’re made to burn despite the end.
So light your path, then light another—
A friend, a stranger, a sister, a brother.

Because in giving, we endure,
In loving, fleeting things feel pure.
We can't control how long we shine,
But we can burn with bold design.

So when your wick begins to fade,
And silence starts to stretch and spread—
May you not mourn the light you gave,
But smile, knowing you truly lived instead.