Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay to mould me man? Did I solicit thee from darkness to promote me?
The title is from Milton’s Paradise Lost, and it asks one of the questions that Christianity, along with all the other creationist religions can never properly answer. GOD, why the fuck did you create us? … Wait, I hear something. What? So that there’s someone to witness how glorious you are? What kind of a sick fuck are you? I think the incestuous, megalomaniac greek gods and goddesses were much better than you, ASSHOLE. You, and only you, are responsible for all the suffering we have to go through. You, and only you, are responsible for all those wars, child molestations, mass murders, serial killers, Hitler, Mahinda Rajapakse et cetera. But of course I know, you don’t exist, hah hah ha, at least not in the way the Bible (the holy book of fabrications and exaggerations) describes you… So at whom should I be mad at? Christians. Yes christians and buddhists and jews and hindus and mormons and all you fucks who believe in religion. Don’t you see you dumb nuts that what religions attempt to do is absolutely impossible? That they are trying to answer questions that are quite obviously unanswerable? Nuts… P.S. Religious people. Don’t take this personally. I do this everytime I realise I’m a much better person than god. Fuck you guys.
I want to die. I know I’m not going to suicide. But I write this to capture exactly how I feel now… This has nothing to do with grief or depression. Rather it is about curiosity – the desire to know. I don’t know how many other people have felt this way. I just want to know what it is like to not exist, which is ridiculous since if I cease to exist, then how cannot know what it’s like to not exist. I don’t believe in any religion. I don’t believe in life after death. But what if there IS life after death? I mean I just can’t imagine what it is like to not exist, which is again an illogical question. But still… Who am I? Sometimes I’ve thought about the possibility of me being the only one who really exists, while everyone else being not real. But then I’m almost certain that most other people have felt this way as well. Still I seriously feel this way from time to time. Perhaps I don’t exist either. No, no way… But again who am I? Why am I living this life? I could’ve born as Shakespeare. I could’ve born as Grace Kelly. I could’ve born as Hitler. But I didn’t. I live this life. I don’t hate this life. Not at all. But why do I have it? I’m not good at remembering faces. But I’m incredibly good at remembering numbers. Why is that? I’m living in 2010. Why, why not 1809? I mean time isn’t going anywhere, is it? … I’ve thought about reincarnation. But if I believe it, I have equally enough reason to believe in God as well. Also with reincarnation, there the problem of when did it all began. If something doesn’t have a begining, then how can it have an end?… I believe life is meaningless. But sometimes I’m not so sure. Are we as insignificant as cockroaches are to us to the universe? … Damn. No wonder I laugh at people who try to undestand things like what love is. It seems the only thing that has any meaning is sex. I really mean it. Through sex, at least we can procreate.