An Enigmatic Desire to Disappear
Recently, the notion of vanishing from the world has woven its way into my thoughts, a tantalizing contemplation of the idea of disappearing. The very thought of it is undeniably liberating, akin to shedding the burdens of societal expectations and responsibilities. It all began with an unexpected algorithmic coincidence, courtesy of YouTube's relentless suggestions. A featured video on voluntary disappearances in Japan called the ‘evaporated’, piqued my curiosity, leading me down a rabbit hole of contemplation.
What captivated my imagination most was the unique nature of these disappearances. When someone in Japan chooses to vanish deliberately, proclaiming their desire not to be found through a letter discreetly left on their way out to freedom, the Japanese police adopt an unorthodox stance—they refrain from pursuing further investigations. This seemingly laissez-faire approach, while respecting individual autonomy, leaves loved ones in a state of anguish, their lives torn apart by confusion and worry. It is a stark contrast to the relentless pursuit of missing persons that dominates headlines in other parts of the world.
For a time, I found myself lost in reverie, contemplating the idea of slipping away from the world without a trace. It's a concept that feels both elusive and enticing, a realm where one could simply evaporate into obscurity.
My journey into this mysterious realm took a literary turn when I stumbled upon Osamu Dazai's novel, 'No Longer Human.' Ironically, it took me two months to complete the English version of this profound work because I was engrossed in the intricate web of human connection it depicted. The novel's exploration of alienation and the human condition further deepened my fascination with the possibility of voluntary isolation.
The year 2020, marked by the global pandemic, was a time when the thought of planning my own disappearance briefly crossed my mind. I pondered the logistics and the associated costs. Switzerland's facilities for assisted transition were one such consideration. While I never pursued this path, there was a peculiar comfort in knowing that such options existed, providing a sense of control over one's final moments.
Three years after my contemplations on assisted transition, I came across a video on YouTube that best explained my desire—aptly entitled The Desire to Not Exist. It's a desire that doesn't necessarily equate to a desire to die in and of itself, but rather to cease one's existence. After watching this clip, I felt understood, seen, and heard. Oh the irony, huh?
In my quest to understand the intricacies of life and death, I recently concluded Margareta Magnusson's non-fiction book, 'The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning: How to Free Yourself and Your Family from a Lifetime of Clutter.' This book illuminated a unique perspective on our material existence. It made me realize that in the wake of my mother's passing when I was 18 (and succeeding deaths in the family after that), I had unknowingly embarked on a journey of Swedish Death Cleaning in small, incremental doses. It stirred a sense of pride within me, as I acknowledged my growing commitment to leave behind a life unburdened by possessions, ensuring that I wouldn't weigh down those who crossed my path in this existence.
Ultimately, my goal is not just to disappear, but to live a life that leaves no trace—a life that, when it inevitably comes to an end, allows me to part from this world as if I never were. It's a contemplation that leads to profound questions about identity, purpose, and the elusive nature of our existence. While the desire to disappear may remain an enigma, it serves as a reminder of the complexities and mysteries that define our journey through life.