Must we live, simply because we are born, deemed alive by blood cells racing through our veins, and neurons firing impulses trying to teach us life lessons? Or perhaps because two people chose—or maybe didn’t—to bring forth a life into this crazy world?
Despite those motley instances where one is forced to wonder why that mysterious cosmic governing force chose to create this absurd, ironical, intricate little plot called life, I honestly believe that we, as a collective living unit, are headed towards a greater destiny.
Each moment leads up to a bigger calling, a more elaborate reason that shall one day define our existence.
I’d like to believe that I live because I choose to, and because I refuse to be just another face in the crowd of men, women and urban fables. Unless you believe in your own self, it’s highly unlikely that someone else will fall down that same rabbit hole with you. In a way, it all feels like marketing and advertising yourself to the world to achieve a more widespread, a more heartfelt acceptance. And I don’t think I’m wrong in assuming this, because I really do think that we are born to learn and to teach what we learn to others around us. Knowledge must be shared, no matter how trivial it is. A dead brain is as useful as a broken cup, so before your cups starts showing any cracks, share your wisdom, however ridiculous it may seem to you.
You shall only be remembered for your actions and your words after you’re dead and gone, because a pretty face will fade away like a blurry candle flame and a baritone voice will be forgotten like a seldom heard melody.
You can choose to be different and to stand out, or you can be remembered as someone who simply came and went, stuck to the script.
I, on the other hand, like to improvise. I’d hate nothing more than to be forgotten.