The sound of rain and the absence of light greeted him as he awoke. Lying on his side and too lazy to move, he looked up toward the window as his eyelashes grazed on a pillow that would, at any other time of the day be a lot less comfortable. It was eleven in the morning on a Saturday, not that it would have made much of a difference since everyday was the same as of late.
The thoughts would just race as they always do, never resting. How do you decide what you accept as something you should do? When you were little and your parents taught you something, anything, you took it in. But where is the line between existing and living? If you define living, as living your life, wouldn’t you have to create it for yourself? From the ground up, using all you know, the ideals, the morals, the things you stand for, if they’re planted in you by someone else, if you let it seed in you without evaluating it for yourself first you’ve already lost that much of what that part of you could have been.
People bothered him. It wouldn’t have been inaccurate to describe them as sheep: doing almost everything they did with with their mind firmly set on the idea that the belief that they were taught was all that existed because as they were taught, it was all that did exist. Individuality is certainly not what he wanted, no, not something that trivial. It wasn’t a competition, just a hunger to see more acceptance and compassion. Sure their beliefs may be beautiful. They call their cult one of peace after all, but that’s the thing about peace that they don’t understand - there’s nothing peaceful about anything that, when stripped down to what it really is on a fundamental level, says “I am right and you are wrong”
So where do you stop? How do you say that it’s okay to have people think that every single day? That they really are better than the other person because their beliefs are in the right. How can they even talk about world peace? The people who talk about not judging when they don’t seem to even understand that standing for something that puts something else below them is indeed exactly what they’re saying they don’t want to do.
The droplets were sliding down the glass now as the sound of the rain was fading away, it was still gloomy and the drizzle was all that was left. He had to get on with his day, he had to live, and to live he had to understand the insignificance of being just another living creature. It was not needing the promise of an afterlife or the fear of repercussions be what guided his life, but a basic sense of empathy that he had to enforce in his daily routine to be a better person, to use the power of understanding that he was encumbered with to be as selfless as possible; to help, to explore, to meet new people, to make mistakes and learn, to stay open minded and absorb, not restrict. To apologize, to doing what you love, to have a dream, to try and be better without putting others down.
Life is indeed a lot more shit than the positives it offers, but that really is the whole point he thought. You don’t really get to ever choose the cards you get dealt, you’d better just be happy you have a hand because to just think about the kind of odds that led to your existence in perspective of everyone and everything before you, had to go through — the chances that every event that preceded your conception went exactly the same way as everything did, is so ridiculously small that you really do not have the right to complain about it. The only thing that he knew for sure was that he was trying to live, and that was the only thing that was certain. That all living really was, was a struggle, an effort, and that was as unequivocal as anything ever was.