After high school, I decided to move to the United States to pursue my higher studies. As part of the university admissions application, I had to write an essay on something from my life. Now, I am a boring person; the most exciting thing I could think of was the time I witnessed a road accident. Not the best topic for an essay that’ll decide the path for the rest of my life.

After thinking for way longer than I would like to admit, I decided to write about death. Not quite death itself, but the story of my uncle passing away right as I was sitting next to him. Didn’t realize how hard this topic would be for me. The memories of that incident were fresh yet faded. I tried to bury it, but a part of me kept poking.

So I began writing, and as I was writing, I started remembering things I didn’t recognize. It was as if I was back in time, in that room with him, watching everything unfold from a third-person point of view. I saw what was happening, and I knew what I was feeling. Even though at the time I had no idea of the emotions I was going through.

As I finished writing, I realised I have a better understanding of the experience. Writing about that experience helped me process it so that I wasn’t afraid of those memories anymore. I was comfortable sharing it, though my eyes teared up as I was telling a friend about my uncle and his passing, I felt relieved afterward.

This process helped me realize how important stories are in processing our trauma and how they can be a vital tool for grieving. It taught me how the stories we tell about our experiences influence us more than the experiences themselves.

Below is the final essay I submitted with my application.

I was sitting on the bed beside my sick uncle. A few relatives surrounded the bed, all hopeful and in a light mood by then. The day was full of panic and uncertainty. When Uncle collapsed on the stairs, some of us thought that was the end, but he seemed fine now and needed rest. Everyone was chatting when my grandmother screamed. I will never forget these words, “No more, he is no more.”

I am uncertain what I felt when I heard that. Uncle looked so peaceful that I thought he was sleeping. I frantically started checking his breathing, pulse, heartbeat, following every step I learned in the first aid training from the Red Crescent Society. I measured his blood pressure and watched helplessly as it slowly dropped to zero. I knew he was no more. That is when the adrenaline rush died, and reality dawned on me. I buried my face between my knees and started sobbing uncontrollably. The sobbing turned to screams I couldn’t stop.

I knew death was inevitable, but had not realized it. I knew I would die, but I was acting as if I had all the time in the world. After the funeral, I looked at events that transpired within a week, how a man went from slightly sick to bedridden to six feet under the soil, all before my eyes. While this experience did not make me embark on a philosophical journey to find the meaning of life, neither did it make me nihilistic. My realization is far less movie-worthy and more boring.

I always had this grand idea of how my future should look. My dream has been to build a startup that would revolutionize the tech industry and make me a billionaire. With billions of dollars as the main focus, it could not have been more materialistic. I don’t find this materialistic dream appealing anymore. I would rather live a humble life with enough to live comfortably surrounded by the people I love.

My uncle never got married and lived an isolated life. Yet he had such a profound impact on me that I wanted to know why. What made me cry that day was not my love for him but his love for me. He always treated me like the son he never had. Even though I hated doing the chores, listening to his recollection of the old times, he left a mark. That day, I lost a father I didn’t know I had.

I was aware of his fragile heart, last year after a checkup, the doctor said they couldn’t operate on him because it was too late. The doctor prescribed some medicine, and it was all good; I never realized how serious things were. I didn’t care to be honest. His sudden demise made me realize how ungrateful I was for everything and everyone I had.

I failed to appreciate what was before me until it got taken away. I regret never giving my uncle the appreciation he deserved. All I can do now is pray for his afterlife. Maybe we’ll meet someday in a metaphysical world, and I will apologize and tell him how grateful I was.

My uncle’s legacy lives on through the values I learned from him. He taught me the importance of cherishing relationships and the necessity of empathy, and most importantly, even if you don’t have anyone to call your own, you can still live a fulfilling life and leave an impact. While the pain of his absence will never go away, it has transformed into a source of motivation for me.

As the days progress, I am increasingly grateful for my life. I am thankful to have a family that loves me no matter what. The death of my uncle taught me the importance of family and how much regret one feels when one is unappreciative of their family.