A beginning I didn’t choose

Born in a world without knowing. Automatically inclined to search for the function of breathing, a soul now submerged into human flesh feels almost confused. It’s odd, isn’t it? The way souls work. You begin as an infant, your brain undeveloped, your consciousness not yet allowed to blossom into something manageable… Yet it is uncertain how the state of your soul exists. Is it brand new? Has it been around this universe for more than billions of years?

Some treat life like an unexpected, beautiful gift they just received; one that they felt they deserved, and decide to make use of for the rest of their physical existence. Others think nothing of it, many are oblivious enough to never contemplate it… And the unlucky ones turn out to depict it as a misery inflicted upon them against their will. A depressive desperation is attached to them as if it was written for them to suffer upon its existence. If destiny is really written and it is a set course of actions that we’re meant to follow, then free will is an elusive concept. If our character, our development, our flaws, our likes and dislikes, environment, and beliefs, were designed prior to our existence, then our existence seems nothing but meaningless.

From a young age I was unfortunate enough to develop the ability for critical thinking. I began to question everything around me, spending hours exploring possibilities, ideas, and theories within the realm of my imagination. All sorts of odd questions came up for me to ask, for which I never received a concrete answer to satisfy my curiosity. This trait of mine is nothing but a curse in the world I’m living in. Sure, it provides me with a basis of knowledgeable opportunity, though it is nothing useful to satisfy my craving for truth and meaning in this present life. I may sound like a selfish pessimist, which I am to a certain extent. My relationship with life has been a toxic one, me being the problematic skeptic that twists its intentions and manipulates its rules and expectations to suit the complex nature of human curiosity.

There are times where I absolutely loathe existence, and when I say loathe I mean I fully despise every moment I have spent on this planet even if it was perceived as a good one. It is true that I set myself unrealistic expectations and drive myself to exceed my poorly perceived limits, thus driving my weak brain to burn its systems to exhaustion. Not only that, but my cursed perfectionistic nature proceeds to criticize my minor failures to the point where a war ignites upon whether or not I’m competent enough.

You can never know the truth, can you? What defines truth anyway, and how can we be sure of what reality truly is? Philosophy sure is interesting, but it sure seems useless to me. Why? Because no matter how much humanity asks, no matter how far humanity runs and explores the vast arena of knowledge, theories, and discovery, they will always encounter another endless path in search for answers upon just one single matter. Now, imagine the infinite matters there are to explore; each individual one leads to another field of vastness upon understanding. For a human mind, it is a task far from possible to tackle. Humans can never be certain upon the knowledge they attain, the theories they develop, and the ideas they explore. Nothing will ever be truly understood, fully solved, and satisfied upon each and every one of its aspects.