Be Your Own God of Destiny

Every now and then, we contemplate the purpose of life. This endeavour is a paradox of stupidity and wisdom; stupid for three reasons: the answer we seek is resolutely unanswerable, the endeavour only creates more questions, and we look in the wrong places for answers. 

Though overpowered by these three reasons, the wisdom gained is far too compelling to forgo. The endeavour hits the core on what each of us lives for in this life.

In a crass sense, life has no purpose because our eventual destinations are the same -Death. While true, this truth is woefully incomplete. Life does not only encompass destination, it has a begining and is in itself a journey. While one cannot control one’s birth, the power to decide still exists in this stroll towards death, the journey.

We must now face that the purpose of life lie in the eyes of the beholder. It is through one’s choices that one creates his purpose. Nobody, including god and luck, has a say in this. Thus, the only god one should have in controlling his life, is himself. 



I Want To Speak My Mind

Ah, I’ve been waiting for it. Melancholia is seeping through my mind again.

Sometimes I wish I could speak my mind, but no, I must contend myself with ambiguity. I’m sick of leaving huge gaps in my words for the sake of censorship. I don’t mean censorship in terms of axing out vulgarities. Honestly, I don’t mind saying fuck, chee bye, lan jiao, lampa, mai-re pundeh and a whole host of taboo words. But the things I want to write have tremendous consequences as compared with mere vulgar words.

Tears cannot compensate for the pain I feel. I’ve numbed it for too long; I’ve floated without knowing who I was. However, I accept that I’ll have to remain behind a mask. Even after the show has ended, I must continue my wearisome act just because I’m bound by the fucking stage; like a ghost bound to his haunting spot.

It sounds like I’m giving up but I’m not. Logen is a stubborn bitch.

My own words stating that I’m the god of my own destiny still applies. But maybe I’m already too tired to journey on. I long for my demise when I lie in bed. I might just go on dreaming forevermore. Reality doesn’t really go well with me. It considers me an oddity.

Ultimately, I’m saying that I do not belong in this world. I’ve simply lost my way from home. I do not remember the place I belong because it certainly is not here.