Part of the reason why I understand why people like to believe in God is that there's a purpose, pre-packaged beautifully, just for you, you know? There's this reassurance that there is someone Up There taking care of you, someone with a Plan that you are part of, a Plan that somehow would fail without you. It's a sense of importance, a sense of purpose. Sometimes when I'm depressed I curse my logical, rational mind because I want to believe in that. I want to, but I can't. I can't believe that there's a God up there who has a purpose for me, because I want to find that purpose myself. Most of the time, I can find that purpose, even though it's usually short-term.
(I live to make the people I care about happy. I live to write, to have a little immortality in that way. To be remembered. To make the people I love proud. That's why I'm so glad that I'm not alone. But that's out of point.)
I want to make the best of this life too. I remember when I was sixteen and in Uni. I wanted to live only until thirty-five. I would finish Uni, finish my bond at 26, go to Japan and be a teacher there for four years at 30, then along the way I'll write and write and write and try to get published. I guessed, at 16, that I would publish my trilogy at the age of 35. After that crowning achievement, I can't think of doing anything any more, so I decided that my life would just end there. As if it was that simple. But the thing is that I had a goal. I had a purpose, a way to make the best of the life I have.
Now I'm not so sure any more. But I'm still searching, and I'm still trying my best to live and not just survive day by day. But sometimes I hit a period in which my mood goes through the wringer and I feel as if I can't find anything that is worth doing anything. Because I can publish that trilogy. I can write the most wonderful short story ever. I can do all of that, but would it be worth it? Would it be worth it to me? I can gain eternal recognition from the masses and then die, but it won't make my family and friends happy. All I would have is a name to be included in the history of literature, if at that. Would I be remembered as me or just an author? I think the latter is the truth. By the masses, anyway.
And I think we agree on that. The people who remembers us as us, as human, with joys and sorrows and laughters and all of that, are the ones that truly matter. The ones who are with us. Does it matter that the world revere you or hate you once you are dead? You are dead, you can't feel, you can't care. But when you're alive, you can try to make a difference, whether a huge one like a scientific disovery or even just helping a hungry man on the streets. And that's what's important, in the end. Making a difference. Even though we might be acting out on a 'genetic script'... if we made a difference, if we made someone remember our humanity... I think that's enough.
Very true; consciousness and language are definitely double-edged swords. Without consciousness, we cannot be depressed about our purposelessness. But without consciousness, we also cannot be aware about the beauty around us. I don't want to abandon the good just to be rid of the bad. I'd rather take both of them, so I can recognize joy as what it is because I had tasted sorrow. And, well, one can say that language is my raison d'etra. =D
That entry is Dream being emo and depressed. For absolutely no reason. But... you helped. A lot. Thank you. -hugs back-
(I live to make the people I care about happy. I live to write, to have a little immortality in that way. To be remembered. To make the people I love proud. That's why I'm so glad that I'm not alone. But that's out of point.)
I want to make the best of this life too. I remember when I was sixteen and in Uni. I wanted to live only until thirty-five. I would finish Uni, finish my bond at 26, go to Japan and be a teacher there for four years at 30, then along the way I'll write and write and write and try to get published. I guessed, at 16, that I would publish my trilogy at the age of 35. After that crowning achievement, I can't think of doing anything any more, so I decided that my life would just end there. As if it was that simple. But the thing is that I had a goal. I had a purpose, a way to make the best of the life I have.
Now I'm not so sure any more. But I'm still searching, and I'm still trying my best to live and not just survive day by day. But sometimes I hit a period in which my mood goes through the wringer and I feel as if I can't find anything that is worth doing anything. Because I can publish that trilogy. I can write the most wonderful short story ever. I can do all of that, but would it be worth it? Would it be worth it to me? I can gain eternal recognition from the masses and then die, but it won't make my family and friends happy. All I would have is a name to be included in the history of literature, if at that. Would I be remembered as me or just an author? I think the latter is the truth. By the masses, anyway.
And I think we agree on that. The people who remembers us as us, as human, with joys and sorrows and laughters and all of that, are the ones that truly matter. The ones who are with us. Does it matter that the world revere you or hate you once you are dead? You are dead, you can't feel, you can't care. But when you're alive, you can try to make a difference, whether a huge one like a scientific disovery or even just helping a hungry man on the streets. And that's what's important, in the end. Making a difference. Even though we might be acting out on a 'genetic script'... if we made a difference, if we made someone remember our humanity... I think that's enough.
Very true; consciousness and language are definitely double-edged swords. Without consciousness, we cannot be depressed about our purposelessness. But without consciousness, we also cannot be aware about the beauty around us. I don't want to abandon the good just to be rid of the bad. I'd rather take both of them, so I can recognize joy as what it is because I had tasted sorrow. And, well, one can say that language is my raison d'etra. =D
That entry is Dream being emo and depressed. For absolutely no reason. But... you helped. A lot. Thank you. -hugs back-
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