All That Remains

This is how tragedies happen. A solemn cigarette, a solitary glance, a discarded thought. The hell that rages wild subsidies only at the mere notion of change. Change for the better, or for the worse. How morbid is that? To wait for any form of difference while remaining indifferent to the cause and effect. To long for a variance to the norm, to crave that which has the power to shift the tides in any direction, if only to just regain some semblance of progress or regression. If only to regain some sense of self.

We are all particles in motion, forever propagating through space and time on an endless path towards the unknown. And it is that unknown that often throws us at the whim of that which most call destiny. I am no believer. Or at least, I don’t feel like one anymore. Conversations around the divine often drive my perspective to become overly logical, but in truth, times of hardship make me wish the divine could actually prove its existence, but that has yet to happen, war has made it an impossible notion, an impossible dream, and an improbable fantasy.

I often attempt to ask the questions that have no answers. Questions like, are we all moving on a predetermined path? Is our life predestined? Is free will truly free? Is the universe fair? Do thousands have to die? Was it meant to happen or is it merely a consequence of the actions of the maniacal.  All these thoughts question the existence of a divine entity somewhere between the lines. If we are all walking a path that has been outlined long before our moment of creation, does that mean that life has no meaning? 

Perhaps not, some may find some solace in the notion that their lives are bound by the paths laid out for them, others may lose hope, and many seem to use that as a main driver behind their motives, successes, and failures. As if hope and faith are closely tied to them knowing that they are good people, because this entity told them so, because this entity entitled them to some facade they know and believe. Free will is a fickle thing, even these words, as they land carelessly on this page beg countless questions, was I meant to write them? Did they come to me precomposed and pre-edited? Or am I actively choosing to exercise my understanding of free will in an attempt to rebel against the conformity of ideology and faith, and the bleak reality of war. 

Hopelessness can be defined as the lack of hope, in other words, being hopeless automatically proves that you’ve had hope at some point in the past, and have lost it, for one cannot lose that which was never there to begin with. And it’s very strange to dive deeper and deeper into these notions. The thoughts that circulate in my mind seem to be melancholic and dark, devoid of meaning or sense, lacking any emotion, or better yet, lacking any sense of positive emotion. 

I do not believe I have ever been suicidal, death had never been such a recurring idea in my mind, I’ve been overwhelmed sure, I’ve been hopeless, sad, and maybe even depressed from time to time, but I believe our sense of being, our will to live, stems from a place far deeper than emotion, maybe you can call it instinct, an inherent need to survive. The choice to end your own existence is either a byproduct of the deep despair you feel or the lack of a way to coherently make yourself believe that change will happen. The loss of a loved one, like a parent, sibling, child, or friend, makes it easy to give in to the feeling of despair. It makes it natural to allow oneself to lose the will to exist, choosing to regain control over something that appears to be out of control. But now, it’s quite difficult to remove the idea of death when you’re constantly reminded of how easy it may come, and how probable it is.

One cannot bring back a loved one from the grasp of death, or enforce a drastic change in circumstance to circumvent its probability. And in turn, one then loses the belief that change will come, so, in a desperate attempt to rebel against the injustice of it all, one may end their existence, or wish for its end to come if only to regain control and bypass the hurtful nature of all that is unknown. 

There is a certain amount of purity in the act of living. In the preservation of existence and the choice to continue to exist regardless of the answers to the questions posed in the following pages. Perspective is often personal, maybe it always is, and our perspective is directly tied to our perception of reality, for instance, I may never choose to end my existence because there is always some semblance of joy to be found and experienced, even if fleeting, for everything in life is fleeting, except death. So, in order to truly cherish that which is fleeting, one must remain. 

And so, I remain.