There have been a couple times where I seriously question the meaning of life. After thinking about it for a year ago, I realized then that life is what you make of it. I went by it, I stood up and moved on. This year I questioned myself again. Life has no meaning, yet you can make something of it. As I wanted to explain it to myself I explained:
Life is like Playdough, everyone has the same thing, same material. Some people can do nothing with it, can build beautiful shape, some people change the shape of their playdough countless times and a few give the playdough back. Playdough represents life, life essentially exist and we as humans always try to find the meaning to things, but life is one of those things that are just there to exist. The thought can be scary, and painful, but it can also be opportunistic. Life is a blank canvas. There is a beauty in that, an untouched painting that's ours and ours alone. We can paint and repaint it with the colors given to us by our family, friends, experiences and self discovery. We can leave it blank and never look back. It still entails a story, so... what do you want to build with your playdough? What do you want to paint in your canvas?
I don't see a point in living since there isn't any, but that would be unfair to the body i'm in. I am but a soul trapped in a brain and living in a society. I can't be myself, that's when the body acts, when it speaks. So i'll continue living, besides it sounds a bit fun, not because i'm hoping for something but rather, I want to write a story that although may have a lot of downs, i don't want a boring end, since my end is already guaranteed. I want to go out like a star. The more I shine, the brighter I shine, the closer I am to disappearing. Even in my end, people will witness, read, and experience something beautiful that leaves them awestruck. It's true, I want to die, I want to disappear but I wanted to be quiet and satisfying.
I still can't answer why i'm here. Maybe there's no answer. But i'll get everything I want in these illusion.
