On Nothing and Something

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Sunsets. For some it means the end. For others it's a beginning. For me it's the moment. The now.

So we have this weekly challenge to write something about a certain topic every week. My workmates and I are into this blogging thing now. I admit I sometimes get bored in updating this blog. Most of the things I post are recycled materials from my journals. (Don’t be surprised if many things you read here seem like a kid’s diary.) But this newly cooked plan sounds like a good idea.

We are supposed to talk about life. I always talk about that very thing.

Life. Such a simple common word. But its meaning can be very complex. It all depends on an individual though. For me? Life is still something I try to discover everyday. There’s so much to learn, so many new things to find out. The meaning of life will always evolve as I grow up and grow old.

Where are you going? Which path are you going to take?

Now these questions are quite tricky to answer. I’m so used to living in the moment that I forget how it is like to look beyond the next day. I have always hated the idea of planning. I don’t have plans because by then I would have to organize and focus. My mind is too chaotic for that endeavor.

When I was a kid, I find it easier to know what I want and have the courage to say it out loud. At some point of my existence, I’ve dreamt of being a nun, a teacher, a lawyer, a businessman and a journalist.

Today I’m none of the above.

Sometimes I’m afraid I’m going to spend the rest of my lifetime trying to find out what I want out of it.

I had this conversation with a friend once. We were talking about success and at what point can you consider yourself as one.

I can only be successful once I have my own car, my own house and my own family.

It is a simple dream. Practical. Achievable.

It gave me a jolt. Why can’t I want something like that? It would be so much easier to have a goal, something tangible.

Life follows a certain cycle. You get to be born in this world. You try hard to survive. Ideally, you have a family to guide you to adulthood. You grow up. You learn. You find work. You buy the things that can make you happy. You plan a stable future. You make your own family. You do the job that your parents did when they raise you. You watch them grow up as well. If you’re lucky, you’d get to see your grandchildren. Then you have to go on. You die.

Others who are not as fortunate will meet their end without going through those things. But most do. That’s why we populate the earth.

I’ve always resented that cycle. I don’t think I’m up for it. I want to do something different. What that something is I still don’t know.

Maybe I’d be a drifter. Once I’m no longer tied down to family responsibilities I will travel. I will visit the places I have read about and I will write about them.

Or maybe I’ll be volunteer to some good cause. I’m always drawn to those kind of work. I admire their dedication to ease human suffering. I want to touch people’s lives. I wanted to serve humanity.

But if I become too disillusioned before I can do those things, I might just pack my bag someday, find a quiet spot on earth away from society and lead a life of a hermit. I will raise sheeps and chickens. I will tend to my vegetable garden. And I will keep a dog for company. Someday.

For now, I’ll take my time to revel in the moment, to observe people and read dozens of books. I’ll let the words entice my senses that I won’t have a choice but to let them flow from my head to my hand and into the paper. I’ll let my imagination take me to different journeys and let them blend with my experiences until I’ll be inspired enough to weave stories that will come alive, stories that will consume my life amd make me feel a burning passion to create something. Something wonderful. Something that will last.

For now, I’ll be content to let the wind take me where it blows. Drifting. Searching. Yearning. Hopefully I’ll discover myself along the way.

But oh yes, for now I can be something by being nothing. I’ll try to excel at it. For now.

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