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By Ayera Amuru
The tragic death of Rajiv Ruparelia—a young man full of promise, whose plans likely extended far beyond this past weekend—serves as a sobering reminder of life’s unpredictability and brevity. It is events like these that compel some of us to reevaluate the seriousness with which we approach life. Personally, I have long abandoned the pursuit of permanence or grandeur. I now choose to live simply—doing just enough to meet my needs, leaving the pursuit of legacy to those who still believe in the permanence of things.
But even legacy fades. History forgets, memories erode, and monuments crumble. The game of life, as we know it, seems rigged—its rules unclear, its outcomes indiscriminate. No one truly “wins” at life. Eventually, all things dissolve—ambition, love, identity, and even the very self—into the quiet vastness of nothingness. Perhaps that is why many of us find ourselves detaching, not out of apathy, but out of a sober understanding that there is, in the end, nothing to hold onto.
To live, then, becomes an act of survival. The will to live persists through grief, despair, and chaos. Life marches on, often without reason, explanation, or reward. Yet we continue—not because we find ultimate meaning, but because we must.
In moments like these, we are reminded not to cling too tightly—not to dreams, status, or even our own sense of identity. Like Rajiv, all that we are will eventually vanish. No philosophy, no spiritual discipline, and no human experience can shield us from our impermanence. We breathe through each moment, all the while waiting for time to erase us.
To Rajiv’s friends and family, I offer sincere condolences. But I also acknowledge that no amount of pity can ease the void left behind. Loss cannot be undone. It is part of the condition we all share: the inescapable truth that life, from the moment of birth, is a gradual procession toward death.
The writer is a Ugandan Citizen