Why Am I here?

The quintessential question that has bogged philosophers and drunks alike for centuries. The answer, as evasive as ever. In the daily grind of life, we barely find time to ponder about the most important things; those direct questions about life we don't have an answer to, for we never strive to look for them.

Fortunately (or unfortunately I guess), certain events in my life have forced me to think about it. Anyways, I was a deep thinker from the beginning. I would stare at stars in the night sky and wonder how small we are, how inconsequential our own existence is, how disposable we are, if we look beyond the realms of our planet, into the universe (I had more knowledge about universe than a normal kid due my deep interest in cosmology).

It's a scary experience to dig deep into you. It's not what you find, it's what you don't. On the inside, we are all empty. No desires, no worries.Nothing. Zilch. And the eerie calmness that comes from this nothingness is what scares me. For it leaves me devoid of everything : all emotions, all ambitions, all hopes. People say dig deep down inside to find motivation. But if you dig deeper; there's nothing. In the long night walks I took alone, in the utter silence and calmness of the night, I took a shovel and dug deep; so deep that coming out is no longer an option. Yet, here I am, writing this blog entry. Why? Frankly, I don't care. But mere existence has to be supplemented by certain activities to make one living, or at least appear living.

Before closing, once again, why am I here?



Pass the gene, you bitch, why else. AKA , fucking.