Letters to the Pointlessness of Life

He could turn away, he knew that, and yet he...waited? For what?

I have had these strange realizations while eating food, or after having an argument with my mom, or while just plainly sitting —my death is inevitable. The worst of the fact that no one will grieve, and the world will go on.

It goes on just how it did when my grandma died [my first encounter with death], when my teacher died untimely. People forget over time. The sun sets and rises indifferent. The Erasure of existence feels…unreal.

As Camus wrote, “And, on a wide view, I could see that it makes little difference whether one dies at the age if thirty or threescore and ten —since, in either case, other men and women will continue living, the world will go on as before.”

To bring to notice, Camus himself was killed in an automobile accident. Such is the temporariness of life!

Do you never feel that this life is pointless, meaningless? What's the meaning in eating, sleeping, or anything for that matter of fact — when I'd be no longer in this world one day? The possibility of that one day being today or tomorrow is equally likely.

These realizations hit me so hard, I zone out of reality. Everything seems black and white, literally and figuratively both. For the first time I felt scared of death, of not existing in this world.

In fear, mind turns to reassurances. Reassurances like afterlife and rebirths. Afterlife is a hypothetical comfort concept. We have no account for it, even if it exists, believing in delusions has no point at all.

Rebirths are even more disturbing. To think I may come to this earth again fully unaware of this life I have had — the intellect all gone in vain.

Sometimes, I do wish there’s an afterlife. An eternal life where I could peacefully breathe and never come here again. Yet somehow, I may still feel the earth’s beauty — the trees, the music, the books, the coffee, the sun, the sky, the nature. I wish the world becomes static. That time stops for some indefinite duration. I wish that this moment could stay forever.

Yet.

Something that is born is bound to be ended. I would be ended one day or the other. How does it matter?

The realization comes and then lingers for a moment or so before the illusion of life again swallows me. But then, the pang returns even harder, I fear my own absence even more, the cycle never ends. Death is the full stop of our lives. Of all what I built up, spending countless precious moments — gone?

This awareness never leaves once experienced. It is always there; in my mind, somewhere in the background turning eternally. I am always aware that I might not exist the very next moment. To live such a way is threatening, but it’s the only way to create meaning out of the present.

Understanding strips away the human aspect I have lived.

Is Life really Pointless?

Why do humans put this act of living? of success? of medals? of exams? of jobs? of money? of everything?

Why don’t we share what’s in this world and live peacefully, in harmony?

Why don’t we enjoy the only moments of consciousness we have been gifted?

~C.G.

Thanks for reading!