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Why do we exist?

Is there meaning to life?

By KetanPublished about a month ago 3 min read
Why do we exist?
Photo by Mohamed Nohassi on Unsplash

The rhythm of my steps echoed against the ceaseless hum of the city. Left foot up, right foot down, a solitary metronome against the urban symphony. I wove through the throngs of people, each a blur of purpose, their faces etched with the anxieties and ambitions that fueled their hurried pace. Yet, I walked alone, an island of introspection amidst the swirling current.

My head was tilted skyward, not in prayer, but in a question writ large across my brow. It was a question that had gnawed at me for years, a relentless worm burrowing through the fabric of my existence. What was the point of it all? Why were we thrust into this world, blinking and bewildered, only to be swept along on the tide of time?

The question morphed, a serpent shedding its skin. Why were we driven by such a relentless hunger for power, possessions, and fleeting validation? Why did greed and jealousy twist our hearts, fueling conflict and leaving a trail of destruction in their wake? The irony was as sharp as a shard of glass – these very things, the things we chased with such fervor, would crumble into nothingness as we did.

The city itself seemed to echo this truth. Towering skyscrapers, symbols of ambition and progress, grazed the clouds, yet they cast long, skeletal shadows on the weary souls scurrying below. We built empires of ego, monuments to a self-importance that would fade with the setting sun. These elaborate displays of power were nothing more than elaborate sandcastles destined to be washed away by the tide of time.

Was there a grand orchestrator behind it all, a deity pulling the strings of fate? The thought hung heavy in the air, a tantalizing possibility quickly strangled by the reality of the world around me. If a benevolent god existed, then why did the earth bleed with the wounds of war? Why were children, those pure vessels of innocence, sacrificed at the altar of human conflict?

These were the questions that turned my internal monologue into a battlefield. The laughter of a child, a fleeting sound lost in the city's roar, conjured a heart-wrenching image – a child soldier, barely out of his infancy, forced to wield a weapon instead of a toy. Never to feel the warmth of the sun on his face, the taste of a birthday cake, the comforting embrace and loving eyes of a parent. This child, robbed of a life before it even began, was a stark indictment of the supposed divine order.

But it did not matter and a defiant spark ignited within me. Perhaps there was no preordained purpose, no divine script dictating our every move. Maybe that was the very essence of existence – the freedom to forge our own path, to carve meaning from the raw chaos of the universe. It was a daunting freedom, a blank canvas upon which we were forced to paint our own reality. Yet, within that daunting vastness lay the power of choice.

Whether a grand orchestrator pulled the strings from above or not mattered little. I had been born into this world, a participant in this grand, messy human drama. And while the strings of fate might be predetermined, the melody I played upon them was mine to create.

I could choose to be swept away by the currents of greed and envy, or I could navigate them with a compass of compassion and purpose. I could dedicate my life to building a fortress of ego, or I could use my time to build bridges, forging connections and fostering understanding. The choice, I realized with a surge of defiance, was mine alone.

Yes, clinging to a delusion of freedom might be easier than accepting the harsh reality of limited control. But within that delusion lay the power to act, to create, to leave a mark on the world, however small. It was the power to choose kindness over cruelty, collaboration over competition, and love over hate. Yes, there was nothing i could to do that could change the human nature but i could change myself.

And perhaps, just perhaps, by making these choices, by weaving a tapestry of compassion and understanding, I could contribute to a world that was a little less cruel, a little less lost, a little closer to finding its own, collective purpose, even if the ultimate answer to the universe's grand design remained a mystery.

And maybe, that's the very point. Maybe these existential questions, these ponderings on the meaning of life, are woven into the fabric of our being precisely because they grant us hope. Hope for a better future, a future we can actively shape through our choices and have no regrets.

Stream of Consciousness

About the Creator


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  • Ameer Bibiabout a month ago

    Amazing 🤩🤩 welldone superb story

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