Meaning of life
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.