What Is My Life?

I often wonder. When I am passing shops or waiting for the bus. I often think. What is my life like? Whatever am I doing? Is it all okay? Is there an end result to everything I am doing? Am I doing all of these to achieve anything? What are my goals? Do I have any light burning towards anything? Do I have a path in my mind to carve? Is this bland life of mine has any story worth telling? Why am I growing older and older if I have no story? What would I say, if one day in future, someone asks me to narrate a story of mine? What would I say? I sit here, in this scrunched up half of this room, between half of my bed and this wobbly table. I sit here, and I wonder. What would I say if I meet someone and they ask me about my desires. If they ask me, what brings me pleasure or what pains me. What do I like? Is there anything that I feel excited about? Is there anything that disgusts me? I often look often answers as well. In other people's likes and dislikes. In strangers. In books. But, no answer from these satisfies me. Because, deep down, I know it didn't originate from within me. 

- Oizys.

The Only Question I Have

It's been like that since I was little. when I looked at the kids running around happily, I was upset even at that young age. "What are they so happy about?" or "Why am I not happy like them?" or "I eat and sleep. Eat and sleep." "Why do I have to waste such a long amount of time?" I'd be perfectly okay if I only get to live 8 years instead of 80. I don't do anything but I'm already exhausted. Still, I drag myself along, like driven cattle. "Let's keep going." "I don't know why I have to live, but let's have a decent life while I'm alive." That's how I barely manage to drag myself every day. Whenever we were asked to pray as children in schools or at temples, the kids would share what they prayed for. They would say things like, "grades", "schools", "friends", and "love". I never understood that. I always thought why are they praying to God about that? I only had but one question, "What am I? Why am I here?"

The most painful and complex thing. You feel heavy. Your soul feels nauseous. But, you don't know the reason. And, things get worse when you realize it is so difficult for you to explain to your near ones why you feel so sad for no reason. There is no justification whatsoever behind your feeling of heaviness. I don't even feel justified in being sad because when I look around, I see people in much worse conditions and I feel... guilty for feeling sad. Franz Kafka's words resonate within me "I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself."

And, then something even worse follows. You go down fighting but at one point you give up. You give in. You stop eating. You stop going out. You stop talking, you stop listening. you fantasize about nothingness. You play it by lying on the floor just to run away from reality and get a taste of it. A taste of what it would be like to be nothing. A taste of what it would be like to... not be. A taste of what it would be like to not be you. 

- Oizys.