Who am I?

It’s hard living with mental swirls in my mind,

Some days would be better than others,

But I can never make it till evening.

Many times I doubt myself, my existence

I can’t truly recall every detail of the past,

Or should I say my mind refuses to unlock the chains bounding my memories.

It’s too difficult to be alive.

I would think I am a degenerate, a mad man.

Everyone is shifted red, further from me

Or maybe I’m the one accelerating away from them.

Ever since this started, I cannot truly present myself.

Or maybe I always had this, or maybe it’s the result of many unspoken traumas.

If only there was a way to restart again, but then again maybe I would walk the same paths.

Just wish to have peace of mind, to have the burden lifted from my soul.

I don’t know or trust who I am. Even when the best person to guide me tells me too I cannot accept myself.

Who am I

Who am I

I feel like an unreal loop.

If there ‘s a God above,

maybe It won’t give a damn

maybe It would

I can only hope for It to end my pitiful and torturous existence.

If there’s a God above, do me a favour if you may, to end my misery in any ways.




For why do we grief? What is that bitter feeling in the heart, the lump in the throat?

We grief when a being dies, a life that once could move but then became motionless. What is the grief? Is it a feeling of confusion or fear? Or is it the fruit of a soul within us? All of us intricately, inextricably linked, all feeling a universal understanding of the language of life, and death. Why do we cry when our parents or pet dies? Why do we feel melancholic when death of strangers and fallen souls flood the news, when we see a character fall still in a movie? It seems in a moment in time, we coexisted with death, with the lifelessness we see. We place ourselves in somebody else’s coffin. Grieve is really an incomprehensible feeling, a concoction of pain, fear, sorrow, regret, …

It shoves aside our daily hustles and reminds us the frailty of life, of every existence. Of how we are weak and still lost, even as we have tried not to be. It reconciles our reality which we often neglect such that we do not indulge or drown in grief.

What do I live for?

To be honest, there isn’t much to live for.

If I were to die today, I cannot deny that there will be lingering trepidation in my heart, a ceaseless pounding in my chest for a long time, maybe there will also be a little clarity in my thoughts.

There isn’t anything to live for. What we make of life is what we deem valuable to live for in it. However, it never was our choice to choose. Surely there will be options, but we cannot choose for freedom is a disguised concept of the human mind.

If I were to die today, would I hope for an eternal omniscient being to cradle me in its arms and welcome my presence? Would I crave for the promised everlasting joy? Or would I dread and fear that I may be thrown into an abyss of fiery torment and unfathomable despair?

I would not hope for either. The concept and longing for a reward after life seems all too humanly and selfish. To want to be freed from the bodily agony on earth, to be rewarded for living a just life, to be punished for having failed to contribute to mankind. Why should we place ourselves under scrutiny by a non-intervening being? By a being who, if had created us, brought along the miseries and evils, yet claims to be good.

Maybe it does exist, far from our capabilities of understanding, just maybe. However, the ideas created of such a being existing is only selfish. It fails to see life for what it truly is. Life isn’t just about living up to expectations or to be confined to the “norms” and reject the abnormal. As humans, we are the most feeling and understanding animals on this planet, we have been seeking to know what we do not know, to find what we haven’t found. We seek to be understanding, and all encompassing, to be able to empathise and be empathised with. We seek to be god.


There is a duality to everything, a dichotomy is the basis for comparison. To define good, there must be evil. To define joy, there must be sorrow. We all seek to be at one end of the spectrums and reject the polar opposites. Yet, there are people who are in the unwanted poles, who lived lives and chose actions we cannot understand. We often fail to be mindful to empathise with these people, until we become one of them. Hence, we should try to always keep in mind that no one is born inherently to cause harm onto others. Rather, their actions are the products of their circumstances. For every action is born out of circumstance.


With all the digression from the initial thoughts of penning this down, to conclude all this,

A life has no inherent meaning or purpose except the ones we define for ourselves. A life worth living is an examined life. There is no such thing as free will as every action is born out of circumstance, hence we should always consider from another person’s perspective. All these ideas can be explored in the many realms of philosophy.

And should I fear death on the day it comes?

No, I should not. I should rejoice in receiving liberation from the shackles that bound me. I should not fear not existing, because I did not exist before.

We should not place huge importance on ourselves as we are all the same, the result of a cosmic ‘explosion’, the same energy debris from the same inception.

What Is Life?

I do not know.

At the point in time this is written, all I know is if there is life

there is death.

Nothing last forever, not even the universe.

In this short pathetic lifespan of 80? 90? Or even hundred years, God knows how long(or short), of living, what do I do? Does it even matter if it still ends the same?

What’s out there? Beyond our universe? (“Beyond” is probably a human concept and perspective too)

Is there time or any of our physical laws “outside” our universe? Or is that, too, just a fragment of this universe?

Why do we even try

when we are this measly small and extinguishable

For What Do We Exist?

What is the meaning of life?

Why do we try so hard when, after all, we are still specks of cosmic dust?

All these end when we draw our final breath, so why

Do we live?

When after all we have created our own environment 

Discarded nature 

Outlived our purpose of survival 

Disregarded the animal instinct 

Cramped ourselves into those small office cubicles in the concrete jungle 

When on the other end of the globe, they have barely any life in them 


For whom does the bell tolls?