Bookmark #411

People often asked you if you knew the meaning of life, why we were here, and why we did what we did. They did this as they casually pointed towards the sky, the sun drowning in the hues of red and orange, thousands of shades splattered over the sky like some abstract painting fit for only the grandest of museums. They did this as they told you how it reminded them of their mother, of how they should call her soon. And you continued to sit there, listening, not knowing how to tell them they were the answer to the very questions they posed. All that we asked the universe was in us. We were here because we loved; we did what we did because we could; most people wanted to do good.

But we did not know how to go about it, so we asked: tell me, why am I here? Nobody questions this unless they know they possess a capacity to do something—to do good—but can’t find out how. People too sure of their goodness seldom did good. They never had a reason to try. In moments of crisis, it is someone who has a million doubts and questions in their soul who comes around, who steps up, who finds a way to make things better. The others are too sure they are good people; they don’t bother stopping. They don’t bother walking up and saying: I think I can help.

I only wish I could help someone see this, but I, too, have doubts within myself. I think of myself as a good person on most days, but I, too, have made mistakes. And if someone told me I was good, I would not believe them. And in this dilemma, I live my life. I sit and watch the sunset alone. I ask myself, why am I here, and why did I do what I do? Then, the sky reminds me to let it go, look at the colour and forget the rest. I sit there, sipping coffee in silence.

I was much more used to these silences than I was used to the sound of other people’s reassurance. Perhaps, that is why I craved it. Yes, that was it. I loved other people, but I loved them at an arm’s length. There was an invisible circle, a boundary around me; everyone could see it. I was careful, perhaps, too careful. I’ve always thought leaving no mark is better than leaving a scar behind.

I would much rather be forgotten instead.

// if you want to support this walk to nowhere, you can pitch in here