EPT
I am alive now only to be subject as a victim to the cruel fate of reality and living. Now that I live, I am cursed to live in the realm of the living by the innate quality of the will to live. I live due to my enigmatic subconscious that evades my current comprehension. What can a person do? Is the freedom of choice that a person possesses enough to warrant a reason to live? Should a person dedicate themselves to a single task that he/she finds most fulfilling or is most skilled in doing? Are challenges and other such life obstacles warranting of any meaning? Is merely the act of being happy enough of a reason to live?
I share many thoughts and others, because life is meaningless and I, one day, will be dead eventually. That sentence didn't really make any sense, almost as if it were a non sequitur, but I guess life is one big non sequitur when you think about its absurdity closely. I curse myself for becoming aware of such a problem so essential to my peace of mind, and even more so my lack of apathy towards what has now manifested as an existential crisis.
Is my life not dwarfed by the vast cosmos in which the mere anniversary of the appearance of a star encompasses millions of lifetimes? Looking at the stars I realize the dark and hollow husk of an existence I am truly living in. Damn you, stars, damn you.
Humans are fickle, a creature bound by social desires and even greater, its tendency for the irrational phenomenon that is the human condition. Greed, desire, hate, fear, power, and more consume the majority of society that lives in the overly-complex world bound by the superficial stresses of the globally interconnected morasses we live in.
Are humans naturally tending to desire the idea that is progress? What of the technological progressions, the ethics, the philosophy, the feats of grand intellect that have given rise to the very means of communication I am using now. What of it? Do any of the products of humankind bear any significant meaning?
I was and still am awestruck, and at times nearly consumed by the thoughts, lost in an endless abyss of meaninglessness that threatened brain death. However, I have solemnly risen from the ashes of my innocence to tread again the endless winter that is life. I shall not die because the will to live deems the notion as appropriate, for dying simply is, for no good reason, impossible for me to fall before, impossible. Delusional? Maybe. In denial? A slight chance. Amazing? Absolutely.
I began my journey four days ago after engaging in self destructive escapism through video gaming. I ignored my real life responsibilities imposed upon me by society the day I was born, bound to the chains of productivity. I was forced to fall through the sieve of life if I did not happen to have a natural aptitude or affinity for the many qualities society approves of.
That day and many days before my health was rapidly declining, and each day I grimly contemplated the end of my life was nearing. I sensed the impossible possibility of organ failure, stroke, heart attack, and other such life threatening conditions that could impede my quality of life severely. I thought of the cancer patients, the terminally ill, the vegetative, and I despondently thought, "This is the end."
I was playing a particularly superb game of StarCraft that day in between bouts of intense chest, stomach, and heart pains. I was playing in a one-day tournament hosted by the iCCup server for foreigners. I ended up losing despite gaining an early lead, partly to which I blame the sudden chest pains that occurred during the middle of the game. Stunned, after losing I was brought back to the harrowing reality that time could not refuse to face.
In that moment a surge of adrenaline and thoughtless desperation surged through me, breathing into my once collapsing life the will, the passion, the fervent, meaningless desire to continue living. I started doing pushups, situps, and yoga to increase my life span. Death was inches away and every push-up I willed into being pulled me away from death's doorstep. I could not die. Afterwards I played trombone, a passing hobby of mine that fades as life dies, and waxes as the stars shine.
I felt some feeling that day, that somehow life was given meaning, or maybe some semblance of it for an ephemeral moment. The underpinning arid dryness of life still lingered, but the curse was lifted momentarily. I continued the same routine trying to achieve change yet even with all of my shouting life would not bend.
In the end, life was still meaningless, my own subjective meaning still to be found left to toil in mental anxieties. My fading passion for schoolwork was still persistent in my lack of passion and pleasure from learning, yet in the end, I didn't die. Somehow, that's all that matters.
