Dying at 20

I struggle, stumble, bend against the fierce wind, and crawl forward. Just a little more—the horizon is right in front of me. Two more steps, and I will see my long-dreamed-of scenery... just a little more...

I step over it. A blinding light strikes my body. Before my eyes can even focus, I am bathed in a golden glow—ecstasy, joy, swallowing me whole. In that moment, I was the happiest person in the world.

The howling wind begins to settle, its chaos fading from my ears. I take in the scene before me—I have arrived. And then what?

People say the peak of happiness is the moment right before you attain what you desire. Once you have it, you realise the thing you chased after was nothing as special as you imagined.

And so, I died at 20.

Walking through the streets of Hong Kong, you will notice that every student walks with their head low. Head down, working hard, chasing after a meaningless set of numbers. Everyone says these numbers matter, but no one ever tells you what they will actually bring you.

Until someone says you earn a ticket to university if you achieve high numbers. Then, you can go on exchanges, travel across Europe, and witness the beauty of the world.

From that moment on, I no longer walk with my head down. I have a dream, a reason to look up.

When I finally enter university, you cannot imagine my joy. I am ecstatic beyond words. The gears of fate turn along with my script—by my third year, I arrive in Exeter, travel to every city in the UK and every country in Europe, taste exotic delicacies, and cross seas and mountains. The streets of London, the snowy nights of Norway, the water towns of Italy... Drifting from day to night, I savor it all.

Even when my friends spontaneously invite me to Iceland, I pack my bags without hesitation. What is there to doubt for a 20-year-old from Asia? This is the opportunity I have always dreamed of—to stand at the land's end.

I will never forget the moment my feet touched down on the land of ice and fire. My dreams were finally within reach. Whales, glaciers, the Northern Lights—the wonders of the world, once confined to TV screens, were now mine to see, hear, and experience firsthand.

I saw the Northern Lights, chased the whales, and even stood before a glacier, standing strong against the howling wind.

And yet, as the excitement settled, my thoughts began to churn—what else was there left in life?

"If you asked me what regrets I would have if I were to die tomorrow, I wouldn’t be able to tell you."

Those words came from my cousin, who is seven years older than me.

No war, no suffering, no resilience forged through hardship. The children of utopia, drifting on a calm lake, find themselves without a direction to sail.

We are called the "low-desire generation"—no ambition, no demands, yet we have also lost the most fundamental human instinct:

To survive.

To live.

After finishing my public exams, it felt as if I had completed my life’s mission, reaching a grand, fulfilling end. When thinking about the future, the only things that captivated me were the ends of the earth and the vast ocean.

But when I truly stood there, on the edge of the raging cliffs, staring at the endless Atlantic, what could I possibly expect from my next step?

A streak of white light suddenly split the dark sky; an enormous figure emerged from the distant North Sea. Iceland’s wild winds howled, brushing against the mystical blue ice cave, its shimmering glow flickering in the cold air.

I knew—the sky was about to perform its grand light symphony, the largest creature on Earth was about to greet me, and the world’s oldest, purest ice was about to open its doors to me. My grand finale was about to begin.

Yet, at the same time, my life was fading.

I could smell it—the ecstasy, followed by the sudden, hollow emptiness.

Then, my life would be reduced to nothing but shades of gray, a walking corpse in a hollow shell.

My life had been too smooth. A lucky child, untouched by hardship, granted everything without struggle. And yet, my story was an unfortunate one.

Fortunately, at that moment, I encountered misfortune.

The streak of white in the night sky began to fade.

The colossal creature suddenly turned around. Its tail flickered above the water for a brief moment before vanishing into the deep ocean.

The snowstorm raged on, growing more relentless. The blue ice cave’s glow gradually disappeared into the white abyss until its entrance was completely sealed.

"Even last week, the auroras were visible over the heavily light-polluted capital! And next week’s aurora index is high too! But this week... beards of Thor...what the hell is going on?"

"I swear for Odin's sake! I’ve seen much bigger whales in these waters! Sometimes they show their bellies, sometimes they spray water, sometimes they flash their fins... but today..."

"I’m really sorry, folks, but with this weather, we cannot recommend entering the blue ice cave..."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

A stir of complaints filled the air. The group murmured about their misfortune, grumbling over all the wasted effort.

"The goddess of luck wasn’t with us today, don’t you think?"

As I gazed at the distant sky, the endless sea, and the snowstorm of regrets, I found myself smiling.

Life today is no longer the fleeting sixty years. People now talk about living to 120. Ironically, we also obsess over achieving greatness at a young age. If you haven’t accomplished something great by 30, it’s as if your life is over. So we rush. We force children to grow faster, to achieve their dreams sooner.

But no one raises the question—do these twenty-something-year-olds have the strength to take such success? Or what comes after?

Are those extra decades of life meant to give us more time to fulfill our mission? To bask in the beauty of the world? Or are they merely to let us breathe for one more second, to linger one more day?

The sights I missed on this journey are today’s regrets and tomorrow’s hope.

Ten years from now, I will still remember the flick of that whale’s tail. That tail that will drive me to make the rest of my youth count.

One day, I will finally see the whole of that magnificent creature, the hidden treasures of the blue ice cave, and the dancing auroras.

Iceland will remain my heart’s longing—yesterday, today, and tomorrow.