I was always thinking there is an innate purpose to life; as I progress through life, I’m slowly realizing [with some comfort] life has no purpose, none whatsoever — not to say there is no point to living. The point to living is, crafting a point, not living one that is pre-destined.
In these series of posts, I’m assuming the innate purposelessness of life and like everyone else, I’m shamelessly admitting my animalistic nature.
The Beauty of being a fish
Myth: “In the beginning, God created the evening and the earth…” you probably know that story and many other myths of our existence on earth.
It is comforting to know that I didn’t exist from some simplistic stroke of magic by a divine being. There is a sense of beauty in knowing that at some point, millions and billions of years ago, my only existence was as a single cell. A sea dwelling creature, and slowly, the weaker species all dying off, I, through a fight for survival, came to exist.
I am a being of intricate mechanisms that is so beautiful it is a huge understatement to credit its creation to any divine being.
Being a child again
Children want to be adults sooner and adults yarn for another taste of childhood, the principle is usually the same: we continue to thirst for things we cannot get.
I’ve stopped longing for childhood, or adulthood, I’m just living the present. The fact of the matter is, after this moment, this particular moment…see, it’s past, you can never get that moment back.
There are a few ways to approach lost chances — assume every chance as the last chance; actually, every chance is the last chance. After that moment has passed, you can either regret not enjoying it, or live a lie of wanting it back. Now is all you have.
