Death isn’t picky, doesn’t play favorites. It doesn’t care in which country you were born or how much money you had amassed in your brief existence or how happy you are. It’s supremely patient and rightly so, for it knows you can’t escape its reach. One day you too would be lying on that hospital floor or a stainless-steel gurney in a morgue. It had already won. It would always win. In other words, we were born to lose.
