They used to be blissful: the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof, the smell of tea while curled up in bed. Lately though, the sounds have turned into rumblings, the smell gone. Almost unbearable. Almost oppressive.
From beginning to end, life is meaningless. We go through it like the little animals that we are, hoping to survive one day at a time. And along the way, we manage to pretend that there is something more to our temporal existence. One day, you wake up with the sudden conception that you were meant for something bigger, that yours was meant to be more than just another insignificant presence. Are you really? Is it really? Aren’t we all so conceited, to invent dreams and deceive ourselves into thinking that we actually matter. Because the frightening reality is– the universe can do perfectly well without us, that we really are just mere coincidences passing some time before we become the stuff of stars again.
I had not seen blue for days. Clouds dark and gray hung heavy from the sky, threatening. One drop, then another, and another. When the water started to trickle down my face, no matter how gray the clouds were, the rain was gentle. The rain is gentle.
Life has no purpose, and we were never predisposed for anything. We are meaningless. Existentially we never will have purpose nor meaning. So life is existentially simple. The complexity come along only when we start to place meanings in things, people, and actions. We are so stubborn and so caught up in searching for a life with meaning, an existence with purpose that the whole thing becomes an intolerable mess. Maybe it is human nature, to suffer yet silently relish this suffering. We simply cannot exist as we are. Existence precedes essence, and whatever the essence must be defined.
We suffer from corporeal and emotional pain; bleeding and weeping, yet we endure. Because you know what is so fascinating about a worldly existence? Is that all our discomfort and misery are temporary. Even happiness is fleeting. And many a time, happiness seems more temporary, yet it makes more sense to seek it
When you think about it, why are we scared of a pain so short-lived? In the grand scheme of things, your pain matters as much as you. It does not, even your happiness does not matter. But it just makes more sense that while we make use of the little consciousness the universe had granted us, we ought to enjoy it.
The rumbling stopped, and the the smell of the tea I’ve been drinking wafted through the air sweeter than before. The rain pittered-pattered on the roof, its sound was gentle.
Your pain is insignificant. Tell yourself to stop suffering, it’s okay. It’s perfectly okay.