Recently, I went with my mother to one of the biggest fish markets' in the city.

It's one of the busiest places to ever be at.

The noise, the smell of death, the flesh, people everywhere, sweat, vendors competing with each other, it's a terrifying experience.

That's when I saw it.

These fishes are called catfish.

They are slippery — slimey, and were huddled together in a bunch, with barely enough space, inches away from death.

While I was watching — one of them was picked up by the seller and the fish then gave off the most incredible fight anyone could ever see.

It squirmed, moved, thrashed around its tail, tried to use it's skin to its advantage, but, in the end the blade killed it anyway.

Then, there was another kind of fish.

When this fish was picked up by the seller, it moved just a little, tried to wiggle its tail slightly, and then gave up.

Finally, the blade took its life too.

Two different kind of animals — one who fights the most incredible fight of its life, the other, gives up a little too soon.

But, in the end, both die anyway.

Did one judge the other? No.

They were too busy struggling to outrun their own inescapable death in their own different way.

That's how I feel about those who do nothing with their lives.

Nothing.

Because we both know we're going to die someday.

Might as well live the few moments we have left, in the way we think is best.