My Existence

Existence.

Once upon a time, when I had not yet began to understand the world, I had this strong faith: I was born to do something extraordinary. I was not born just to exist like just another entity on the Earth.

The faith still holds but the views has changed.

The more I grew, the more messed up it was. All the complexities of the world was beautifully unravelling in front of my eyes. I was lost. I was and still am heading somewhere, I do not know where. All I know is that the journey that I am on, I am thoroughly enjoying it. All the chaos and the frustrations, I am enjoying it all. They are so beautiful that at times this thought quietly slips in my head, “Maybe, the picture at the end does not matter. Maybe, I will know everything in time.”

It was easy to make the statement, “I was born to do something extraordinary”. It was easy to make the statement especially when I was wrapped protectively and snugly in my cocoon. When there were no priorities and responsibilities.

My goal shifted. It shifted to making some kind of beautiful impact around me. Did that make me ordinary?

I began questioning, “Why was the significance of my existence so important?” Was I afraid of not being remembered by people after I die? I do not know.

I still do not have the answer.

It is such a mess inside my head, I am trying to sort them and understand.

This question was raised again in my head when I began to see so many death around me. Two of the dearest people in my life, who left a hole in my heart are constantly missed every day. Sorely.

And only thing running in my head is, “Will I forgot how their laughter sounded like? Will I forget how their smile looked like? Will I forget their smile lines and the way they scrunched their noses. Will I forget how they sounded like?”

The paranoia makes me almost believe that I have forgotten all of it. So, I keep playing the clips from my memories to keep it alive. But mostly, there are many prominent ghostly picture from my childhood that keeps them alive in my memories. But after I die? Will the generation after me care about them?

But the most important of all, when they breathed their last, was all this fuss about existence running in their head?

I do want to be different. I still do want to make it big. Maybe, on the way to here and now, I lost my ambition. I remember the fiery ambition in my own eyes which used to make me feel alive. Now, they are just dark pool of two dots staring back at me, telling different stories that they have seen, which I refuse to hear.

But what would I want when I will be breathing the last few breath of air that my lungs can pump in? I keep wondering, what would make me feel, “Yes I have done it all and I have done it right”?

That is what will define the reason of my existence.

I do not have the answer yet to:
What I want to do?
What I want to be known for?
What matters the most to my dear little heart?

I do not know. Maybe relations? Maybe doing things my way? Maybe not giving in to things the society would want me to give in to?

Maybe, I will be known for having a spine of my own. For standing tall for what I thought was right. For standing firm for what my heart wanted. For letting go when it was right. For being there, just being there.

Maybe, this makes me ordinary.

Maybe not.
—..

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