my family doesn't do meanings. they charge ahead constantly--unbound by the shackles of tradition and heritage.
i hate it. i hate it. i hate it.
we make no meanings, for meanings change. they are the dandelion seeds that blossom with each of our steps into the wind. they will follow the wind--they will not look back.
i hate it.
traditions? rituals? we have no time for that. no time, no time. life is too short for the things that time has taken under its wings. we are young, we are free. must we be controlled by the norms of the past?
i hate it.
rituals are simply fascinating. the olden days where darkness thrive and fear sank its teeth into the bones of this earth, were rituals not salvation, were they not what kept us going? the silver linings of newborn hope clutching for a rattle that would answer its every call? yes, rituals are fascinating, but they will remain what they are--what they have been: a bird shot down at its first chance at flight.
i hate it.
my family despises rituals. rather, they do not have a care for it.
isn't it terribly sad?
our footprints in this world lasts a second. even the most famous of men will disappear with the winds of time. they may have bigger roots in this world to hold onto, but everything that stays will return. even as i write this, i am haunted with the frightening reality that i would cease to exist.
is it not natural, to hope for meaning? to so eagerly yearn for satisfaction, the complete fulfillness of knowing that even if you cease to exist, even when your bones return to dust, even when the trees make a life out of your grave, even when the world no longer resembles yours, you will live on in the countless meanings worn down by time?
is it not natural, to want to live even as we die?
mother, I admit it.
i'm a coward. i cannot live without meaning, i cannot live on without believing i have a thousand years of ancestors behind me thinking the same as i have.
i'm sorry, mother.
i cannot charge ahead as you have.
i want i want
i want a meaning.