Sunday Brunch

In the midst of chaos and laughter
There is a void in my heart 
No, let me rephrase that
My heart feels too small
Too carry all these impressions 
That's it

In the corner of this café
After a lonely Sunday 
My heart aches for some company 
No, let me rephrase that 
My heart feels too small
It needs to be filled with the presence of my beloved
That's it

Sitting by myself
Sipping overpriced coffee 
The world seems to be looking at me, waiting for me to perform
No, let me rephrase that 
My heart feels too small
To know that I don't matter to these people 
That's it

In this little corner of the world
I am sitting, sipping, waiting, dating, contemplating 
Protecting my small heart in the midst of chaos and laughter

The State III: The Process

The State III

The Process:

It is difficult to put phenomenons, that being social behavior,  into words. It is hard to be a confident writer and still produce essays or books that are completely true. I can see this in myself. I have read books and admired them, books that show no coherency to each other whatsoever, but somehow still manage to convince me that there is some truth in what the author is saying. It was in this small confrontation with myself, that I could sense the ambiguity.

How odd it was reading two completely different philosophers, who were opposites and still find yourself nodding in agreement, once you read their arguments and stream of thoughts.

With every book I read, I did not feel at all that I was being presented wisdom, rather I felt that I was being confronted with my own ignorance. With every book, conversation or lecture I became more aware of how shallow my thinking process in actuality is. The world is much bigger; the people inside it have much more going on inside their head than they show.

It struck me with every conversation and it still shows how incompetent I am when it comes to discussions, because there is always a part of me that can see the reasoning behind one's thoughts.

No matter what I say, due to the complexity of the world and its people, we are de facto wrong when it comes to choosing the way we want to life; it is difficult to evaluate which values are superior to others. Ideals in itself are brilliant and we will happily nod in agreement when one exclaims: ‘’Liberté, egalité et fraternité.’’ Yet, the methods to get there often make us blind to remember what even the ideals were we so proudly stood for.

What is the reason for the failure we go through as human species? Is it perhaps that what we see as noble, actually is a handicap of some kind?

Life is failure, without ever having had the opportunity to even see the finish line, we will never be victorious. It is always an inner struggle between wanting two things that contradict themselves, but on their own are flawless.

Individualism, socialism, chauvinism, humanism, nihilism, freedom of speech, mutual respect, values, freedom, morality, rebellion, diversity, unity, nobility, patience.

It is a harsh way to see life. One could say that, but I would object. However, there is still some small candle light at the end of the tunnel.

Even when I was confronted with my own ignorance, I had discovered that in some way there are certain truths that we all share, that instinctively feels right and just.

The idea that one becomes aware from the push and pull movements of life, is only possible when one takes a break from life itself and tries to transcendent whatever world he is living in. Seeing everything not from a biased view, but seeing the world as followed:

The realization that we are part of a big flux that connects one another, in which our existence bases itself upon the choices of the generation beyond us and that our choices form the base for the generation after us. With other words, there is a bigger picture than just that which fulfills our individual needs, but ambiguously we still need to take those individual needs into consideration.

That is such a hard task in itself and is sometimes too demanding.

Not too demanding at all if you ask me. The reason for this, is that coming to this realization takes the most essential part of human nature in question. The ability to think, to be an individual between the herd, yet be one with the herd based on your individualism.

It is true that social behavior and political movements base themselves on the idea that certain ideals are more true, because they fulfill the goal they want to achieve, but that does not mean that the ideas of the rival don’t have the same source.

They still do, there is always some truth in the other, even if it not presented in the desired way. The only way to see that we are all going after the same idea in life, is eliminating the passive thoughtless behavior that many have, that has its root in the inability or refusal to think, therefore denying one’s own individualism.

And why do they do so? The reason being that it is easier to let someone else carry you to the goal and blame it on him if the possibility is open to failure, instead of owning up to one’s own mistakes.

There is no blame in mistakes, but only in being too coward to make them and owning up to your responsibility. 

The State II

Subiectum:
The greatest paradox known to man is the expectations life has of us. This in itself too is a paradox. Since life essentially has no meaning. What do I mean by that and what does it have to with political and social behaviour? Those are questions for later, they’re more specific and too detailed. Right now I just wanted to highlight the area needed for me to bring another issue forward. The Idea I want to discuss is an Idea that is related to all of us, therefore it has existence in that which is most common to all of us: life. I use the word Idea in the Platonic sense to convey to you that what I want to discuss is nothing made out of matter, although it does require matter to gain existence. The Idea I want to convey in that sense is something that solely exists inside our heads, but by which we are confronted on a daily bases, hence giving it not a materialistic existence, but an abstract.  The Idea I want to introduce is one that consists out of contradictions and paradoxes. It is something that has to be examined carefully and presented delicately.  The worst thing about it, is that even the area in which it exists, namely life itself, is a huge paradox. Therefore it is utterly necessary to be patient with the following Idea. It is difficult to explain, because explaining it equals to wanting to explain the idea of a contradiction. I do however think it is profoundly necessary for us to finally accept this phenomenon and see it for what it is and its influence on our daily lives, but most importantly, in our contemplative actions.  What I want to discuss is not really a subject honestly, since the use of that terminology indicates something concrete, something that has been limited to some particular essence. The concept I want to bring forward is more complex, it is a paradox, but it exists. In one way pushing us forward, in another keeping us away from progress: the ambiguity of life.  

Life: 
The greatest paradox known to man is life. What I mean by that I will explain in a bit, but first let us look at the opposite of paradoxes, logical consequences. What I find interesting in logics is that we have the principle of tertium non datur.  A Latin term that has a very simple meaning: a proposition is either true or false. This simply means that in one and the same sentence, one can’t say anything that contridicts itself and therefore eliminates the credibility of his belief in a certain proposition. So literally translated from Latin it means, the third is not given. Quite a helpful principle I might add. Evidently, it is either true or false that water is wet. Likewise it is either true or false whether the rose is red or not. And so on and so on. Denying such examples would be absurd too.  Could you imagine a world in which such statements would be redeemed as both true and false? In such a hypothetical sceneries the basics of logics would have fallen apart in so far that no human being could ever have access to any form of knowledge. Therefore it is safe for me to conclude that it is reasonable to think certain ideas about the world are either true or false and there is nothing in between that can validate it.
What fascinates me however is that there are certain things in life that however can not be redeemed as true or false. These are concepts that one simply takes as given. The standpoint towards them is not based on any logical research or discovery of principles. These are simply standpoints people take when they do politics. What I have discovered in the social behaviour of people, is that they have integrated this logicphilia towards those concepts in such a way that it does not apply to them, but are still reinforced. Concepts that require nuances and not the harsh discrimination given by the principles of logic, are filtered by the black and white spectrum of right and wrong.
The statement I’ve given in both introductions, is one that will be leading throughout all my contemplations. Is it possible and even justified for man to use discrimination in a life of paradoxes and ambiguity? These thoughts have not risen over night, I must say honestly. These are specks of thoughts that have been compiled into one big ball of thoughts that I decided to present. What is the reason that we keep falling back into repeat, when there should be so called progress? I’ve been trying to answer this question by looking at a specific reason. A sort of subject that I can pinpoint as the prima causa omnis. Everytime I had thought I had found an answer, whether it be in socialism, nihilism, virtue ethics or aristocracy.  Whether it be in tolerance towards others or indifference, hate or frustration, it would always lead to the same two conclusions that I had not anticipated, but badly needed. 
Firstly, life exists in paradoxes and out of ambiguity. Kierkegaard phrased it best: 

“It is quite true what philosophy says; that life must be understood backwards. But then one forgets the other principle: that it must be lived forwards.”

Due to the ambiguity of life, there are lots of things we can be uncertain of. There are lots of choices of which we can not completely know the consequences of. Ambiguity presents itself in many forms, that we experience in our daily lives. The one mentioned above by Kierkegaard is solely the first ambiguity presented to us. Besides that we have the phenomenon of conformity versus individuality, wanting to define yourself personally, but also not being stared at for being too different, the thin line between well intended critique and unjustified offense, versus unjustified critique and justified offense. We forming ideals or ideals forming us. We choosing our future or being shaped into the future. Free will or free choice. 

The ambiguity of life pierces through all these subjects, because of only one simply reason: every single one of those subjects carries an essence of truth, even if it is most minimal. And by truth, I do not mean in the same sense as when we call a proposition true or false, but in the sense that it all carries the same goal that needs to be idealised. Namely, the end of the ambiguity. This being my second conclusion. How I came these conclusions, will be discussed in the next part.  

On Rejection and Nihilism

There were, are and will be times in your life in which you will experience rejection. This in itself is a terrifying fact that we cannot escape, let alone know how the live with it and sharpen or norms to its bitter existence. 
And out of all states of mind, this one in particular bears a stingy feeling of discomfort with it. Just because of its so called destroying nature.
A sense of rejection is a state of mind that destroys hopes, aspirations and dreams. It is the grandfather of nihilism. The grieving mother that gave birth to a son it didn’t want. 
There's no denying every single one of humanity has faced rejection in some way or another. And how macabre it was to experience powerlessness. Trying but not achieving. That moving forward doesn’t guarantee that desired throne we wanted to sit upon while the a warm voice is saying: “You have done your best, my child. It was enough and more than worth it.”
And we, the gods of the new world, who reign over it behind our technological innovation, seem not to have accepted the power of defeat that so mercilessly has proven its existence over and over again to us through the centuries of failing. But that's no wonder, seeing our pride. 
And yet I ask you to remember, that one time in your life where you had shown the world your brilliance in the form of a talent you possess or by hard work. And how wonderful it felt to have finally talked yourself into being courageous. One final step forward and you would have reached your end. 

(I realise I am intentionally enlarging the situation, but only with the purpose that it will the more relatable. These general lines of experience are what every human goes through before the final blow)

And when the rejection finally does take place, it is not just the sense of judgment laid upon your act in itself that may stir your emotions, it is all that positive buildup from beforehand that suddenly collapses all together. And it falls and it crumbles, draining every bit of confidence and courage you had in mere seconds. And what you’re left with is angst, followed by an emotionless state of mind that’s too shocked to even comprehend what just had happened. 

This is rejection. So familiar and mind numbing it us.  This is the grandfather of nihilism. A crusher of ideals. The stone in our path that stops us from moving forward, not being able to look into the future. Yet it makes us regret looking back and hating ever having chosen this path. Imagine this for multiple times in your life. A path that stops halfway, yet being told that if you try hard enough one day you will reach your throne and you will comfortably reign over the worries of yourself and, if you’re idealistic enough, of humanity. This lie becomes the engine of your pursuit of happiness. What you’re left with is a huge nothingness. Nothing to move forward too, but to drained to even consider another way. So you sit there in the middle of the road. Stuck between two possible extremes. 

As a considerate reader you might have seen similarities to The Myth of Sysiphus by Camus, in which Sysiphus was doomed to eternally roll a rock up a mountain, just to see it tumbling down just as he reached the end. Let me elaborate on this. 
“Let us imagine Sysiphus happy”, Camus said. Let us imagine he is considering rolling up the rock as a life project in which he can still realise himself in some sort of form, by which he is not doomed to emptiness. That even in the most miserable situations it is possible to idealise oneself and to try realise that goal. 
Let me then pose the following contra-statement. Let us imagine, I say, that it is not a miserable place we live in, but that we are in paradise. That this society of empty consumption has realised itself into our paradise, in which we have no shortcomings. Complaining would be shushed. The habitants of paradise would be pointing at the damned burning in hell telling me: “But at least, you’re not them.” By which I would subject to this argumentum ad absurdum and nod in agreement. 
Imagine in this scenario that it is us living in paradise, but we are unhappy. There is little to nothing to achieve, that truly matters to our existence in the broadest sense. Things that would truly make us worse off by missing the chase of it or understanding the meaning of the word by true experience instead of false imagery. 
In this paradise everything exists before us. Clothes to the point of overproduction. Food, as much as our hearts desire to the point where obesity is our main health concern. Hostility towards our friends, because our eyes have been blinded by the bright heavenly light of wanting more and more, but not always being able to obtain it in such a human packed place. 
The voices keep telling us, that there is better to obtain, that we aren’t working hard enough, desiring hard enough, buying hard enough in order to obtain the obtainable. Namely, the thrones of the gods who are sitting above us, exclaiming that we should be grateful for the purpose they have presented in front of us. The purpose of becoming them and that rejection of this means wanting to burn in hell. 
The question that should be asked is this hypothetical scenario is, which of the places would I rather be? Is it paradise or hell? Paradise, where idealistic views will never be realised? Or hell, where you’re stepped upon for not ever being able to participate in this nonsensical game of so called self realisation? 
Having lived in paradise, having walked against many doors with false promises, rejection after rejection after rejection, it is no wonder that there would be some among us that would choose neither.
Thus stop moving forward. Letting everything drop and sigh dissatisfied over the flaws in the so immanent perfect paradise. 

Where is Sysiphus truly now that Camus has left him? Which gates have opened before him? Is Sysiphus even truly happy? But most important of all, what is he doing?  Sysiphus doesn’t live in a sort of hell, pushing the rock for eternity. He’s not happy. He’s in paradise, he’s unhappy with his rock besides him, sitting, doing nothing, but contemplating his suicide. 

Contemplation During a Lonely Night

''Il y a des jours où Dieu est si loin, qu'il semble absent''
There are days where God is so far that he seems absent
-Simone de Beauvoir

Unfortunately for me He never felt present. Fortunately maybe, however that's hard to tell on days where you feel like a raindrop falling from far only to be hit by the solid cold ground.
Never have I felt more alone, than realising that growing up doesn't mean solely growing up as a child, but mentally as an adult.
God would be the father figure making sure that all goes well, that I am safe.
For now I feel like I'm an orphan of life. Nothing seems to satisfy me in the slightest. Even worse, I feel empty and joyless. Sucked and drained, but most of all I am afraid.
I barely have enough energy to enjoy anything, but just enough to spend my nights contemplating and worrying. Wasteful nights if you ask me.
Some people weren't made for human interaction, I think I'm part of them,
I never am more confronted with my loneliness and angst than in the middle of the joyful crowd.
I know that escaping and isolation are meaningless, but what else is there in life?
I believe that's indeed what we see as growing up and facing the challenges of a possibly meaningless and empty life, yet giving our all to it.
Amusing if you ask me, for I can't judge whether that's genius madness or mental madness.
Even now as I am writing I can finally sense a form of peace overwhelming me; I am safe.
It has the same cosy feeling I had when mother would hug me tightly before going to sleep, the same warmth, the same isolation inside my own little world.
Growing up is leaving the safe spot from mother's nest and moving on to sharing the bed with a dozen strangers at the off chance that one might be the one for you.
Is it bad? No of course not, for who is there to judge you and your choices?
To say what is right from wrong, to comfort you when you spend your nights crying and seeking for some kind of answer to your ignorance of life.
I sense a balance between not caring at all, very nihilistic of course and on the other side a lot of fear for the unknown. Fear for mistakes I might never forgive myself.
Indeed, there is no God to judge me, but that makes it worse because I know myself.
There where He would give me comfort and salvation, I would never forgive myself. Not because I am perfect, but because I would not be able to look myself in the eyes and see nothing but filth.
And suddenly I would lose my touch for existence, because I apparently never knew what it meant to be alive as I indeed made those mistakes.
They haven't happened yet, but this would indeed be how I would reason with myself.

Oh desperate times, lovely lonely times.
Please world, leave me at rest and I will never provoke you again. I too bear fault at being curious, but not being able to forsee and accept the consequences of my childish curiosity.
Eventhough I am very doubtful in terms of morality, I can't forgive myself for seeing the world and its people as my toys any longer.
I used to be nihilistic and an opportunist, only using the world to satisfy my own needs, but even that doesn't work as much as it should.
Therefor my subconsciousness only desires punishment of the Self.
Egocentric behaviour should be considered as a lonely act, therefor damned to a lonely existence.
And honestly, loneliness has never sounded more liberating.

Losse Gedachtes #5: Vingers

Op deze vijf vingers
Draag ik de planeten
Met een lichte tik omlaag
Stort alles naar beneden

Desperation

Short Story

I have never experienced the horrors of prison, but had I; it wouldn't be any different from my current life. I hate my life, all of it, the slow pace, the ignorance that is floating around, overwhelming me, no, slowly eating me away, like a parasite. Every inch of me falling into oblivion and gradually being consumed by this tiny parasite that has manifested itself into the core of my soul, leaving nothing behind but emptiness.
Yes, life is hell, a never ending hell that has solely one torture in mind for me; as if it was specially selected for me. Iteration, endless, mindless, ignorant, oblivious iteration; forcing myself to wake up, forcing myself to sleep, doing my tasks in a continual cycle of life. Making myself get adjust to this mindset in life, although I can't discriminate myself from who I was and who I am now.
Yesterday was today and today will be tomorrow; always the same morning always the same evening, always the same dreadful night.
During the early morning, I stand once again in the kitchen and prepare food for a lazy bastard who can still not pronounce my name correctly. I cringe every time I hear him say my name in that deep grunting voice, that always seems to be short of breath, with a slight slur to finish it off. "Sedaf...my tea." I hear him moan from the other room. I close my eyes for a second. His groans and puffing make me lose my appetite. Sedaf, Sedaf, Sedaf. Indeed my slave name is Sedaf. My real name is Sadaf.
With a cup of tea filled with enough sugar to provide a whole chocolate factory, 2 eggs, bread, milk and cheese I am sit next to him. He attacks his food like a foul pig, stuffing all the ingredients in his mouth at once, turning and twisting it with excessive saliva and washing it all away with his tea. I smile tenderly at him and stroke my hair to one side. "Sweetheart, should I bring you something else? A piece of extra bread.. coffee? Perhaps a little bit more, to stuff your tummy t?" You piece of garbage.
He looks at me with empty eyes and mindlessly shakes his head. Then he takes a look at me from top to bottom. I might as well be naked by the way he looks "You ain't eating?" and I shake my head. "I..." Before I can say more, the television is turned on with the sound blasting loudly an indication for me to be quiet and leave.

Good.

I go off to the kitchen. I have accepted it. No, there is indeed no escaping from this prison. Denial is pointless. I will live here, die here and rot here. For me this home is my state and that man, whom I call ‘husband’, is my master, father, mother and brother, all at once and much more. I adore him. Yes, I love him. I love him.
Whenever I feel I have the privilege to contemplate my existence, I remind myself there is no place in my life for happiness or sadness.
Only survival.
At those rare moments I do contemplate I tell myself:
"My dear sweetheart, does it even matter whether it is you touching yourself in the shower, with the thoughts of a stranger in your head, or the forceful penetration of your husband?"
Those times, I tell myself, when the light of my cigarette is the only thing illuminating the room:
"My dear, my love, it is all the same."
And yes, that is indeed the only explanation I can give myself.
Whether it's the pain of the mind caused by a love one without her intention or the pain of the devil, who awaits to punish me some more every night,
I can see nothing, but the darkness of inner core my mind, bouncing back to me from the others due to my impure thoughts and acts.
And for some reason, even the enjoyment of this cigarette disappears and it becomes as foul and bitter as my mind.
"The better", I sigh and I inhale deeply, as tears drip from my cheeks.

Lucky for me the sound of the TV is loud enough for him to not hear me hit my head against the wall.

The Student by The Bitter One (A Parody on Communistic Literature.)

The Student

By: The Bitter One

Weighed down by misery and looking at the grey sky our hero trudges towards home to consume the same meal that he has eaten for the last three days.

The muscles exhausted from sleep deprivation and fingers filthy from the ash and soot he joins the group of dreary looking students. Their shoulders are hanging low, deeply hidden in their high collars and with grave pace they move their cold feet, while leaving a deep trace of greyish wet snow behind.

Covered in a cloud of steam, the school spews the students out, who, after having served the school, will come back the next day to fulfill their mechanical duties once more.

Irritated and contemptuous grumbles could be heard among the students as they turned their head away from the last bell that indicated their temporary freedom.

The day has ended and the sun is slowly setting. The irritated grumbles turn into warm fiddle-faddle.

The classroom has sucked all energy out of our students and with apple-red cheeks their teeth are dripping with saliva, ready to attack the few pieces of bread their family can offer.

After many years of intense labor, most students have peace with the fact that there is no denying in the grave suppression they all have to undergo and that every step they take to end the day, is a step closer to their grave.

This is also true for our hero, for years of labor have robbed him from his appetite and his desire to drink warm wine.

Other days, when school has ended, the students speak to each other in a serious manner.

Never deviating from the grades and that which manifested itself the closest in their existence: the physical labor that has to be done to the fat-stomached schoolchiefs.

Rarely does a smile break through their monotone mannerism of speech and when this does happen on an unusual day, the aggression is compensated at home towards the younger sibling or parent who dare to ask them how their day was.

And after having lived like this for sixty-five years, they all die, knowing that they themselves have contributed the most out of all students to society.

So too would our hero have lived, as the most loyal worker of all.

He is the most handsome, the strongest and the most intelligent, but also impatient and rude towards any form of authority.

It so happened one day, that he comes across a very moody fellow student who makes a vile remark regarding his clothing.

Severe and disrespectful as he is, our hero responds the surly looking young lady.

Her piercing dark eyes look tired and she turns away from the nasty comeback our hero makes.

However, something is still bothering him, for he has noticed that there was some truth to her words.

There is indeed something wrong with the way he is dressed.

And you see, he tells himself, it’s not only me who is dressed this way, it is also the fellow student who made the moody remark and the students walking across the hallway.

She is right, he claims, indeed we are all dressed horribly.

Horribly the same.

And he notices the students, hungry like wolves, ready to revolt against the regime. Hungrily and impatient to feast on the corpses of their to be former schoolchiefs.

From that moment on, our hero knows what he is ought to do.

Burning with flames of desire, he makes a way through the thick layer of ash-grey know and as he throws his arms into the sky he exclaims:

‘’Comrades...!’’ he has just begun his sentence or a big crowd of students gather around our hero.

He looks at them in aw not knowing what to expect next.

And with grave disappointment he witnesses the most shallow act imaginable at that time and moment when they take out their mobile cellphones to film the spectacle.

Our hero feels at that exact moment all hope melt away and he lowers his arms in sadness.

His shoulders are hanging low, deeply hidden in his high collar and with grave pace he moves his cold feet, while leaving a deep trace of greyish wet snow behind.

Haiku- Karakterloos en karaktervol

karaterloos en karatervol

hier sta ik dan weer

tussen de gelukkigen

welk masker moet nu?

Random Thoughts #3 Dreamer

Dreamer

This story begins the moment I die.
I feel cold. And uncertain. 
My body can't move, as if metal chains have strapped themselves on me. 
Where am I? 
Unable to move. 
My head is fixated to the ceiling. It is beautifully decorated with seashells, mermaids and turtles, slowly moving and swimming above me. Elegantly and gracefully. 
I can't advert my eyes. I don't want to. 
Not yet.
By my eyes feel heavy, they're slowly coming together. 
Please don't. 
The same force is pushing on my chest. I can't breath. 
I can't think.

My eyes have slowly closed, yet my mind is all conscious.
Torture, as the force keeps pushing more and more.
Heavenly grace, where to escape?
My mind is trying to come up with a plan to escape.

I’m know I am inside a room, I can hear the rain dripping against the window.

There is a storm coming up. 
Water? Coming closer indeed. 
It's coming for me.

The room is slowly filling itself up with water, everything is covered in water including me.

I can’t move. I am drowning. 
My legs and arms are solid rock, but fortunately I still have my consciousness.
Unfortunately, I mean.

It’s one of those, I sigh.

The water is filling up the entire chamber and it is slowly reaching for my face.

First my legs and arms, then my hair. Lastly face is embraced.

I take a deep last breath before I will be taken away by the rising water.
I can't breath.


When I wake up, my body is covered in sweat.
With a restless sigh I look around the room.
No water, I am not drowning.
I am concious.
Fortunately, 

Another restless night.

Losse Gedachtes #2

In De Hemel

Mijn dierbaarste vriendin heeft me ooit verteld dat wanneer je je eenzaam voelt of niet weet waar je moet zoeken in het leven, dat je altijd naar de lucht moet kijken.

‘’In de lucht zal je nooit de antwoorden vinden’’, zei ze ‘’maar je zal altijd begrijpen wat jij betekent voor de wereld.’’

Deze uitspraak heeft ervoor gezorgd dat ik op mijn meest zorgwekkende en bittere dagen naar de hemel keek en begreep hoe insignificant mijn problemen leken ten op zichten van een groter geheel dat het in het teniet deed verdwijnen.

Juist dan op die dagen, werd mijn ademhaling regelmatig en de zorgen werden weggeheven.

Mijn jeugd verging mij springend van de ene dag naar de ander met mijn vriendin aan mijn zijde.

‘’Zie elke dag alsof je opnieuw geboren wordt.’’ sprak ze me toe, wanneer we gezamenlijk naar school liepen en in elkaars gedachtes versmolten.

En zo zag ik het ook. Elke dag alsof ik alles voor het eerst weer zag en ik voelde de kinderlijke verwondering in mijn onderbuik warm worden, wanneer ik over haar balkon naar de mensen beneden keek.

‘’Wat zie je?’’ vroeg ze dan op serieuze toon.

Peinzend keek ik haar aan probeerde me te verbeelden wat er in haar hoofd omging.

Ze nam nog een trek en haar ogen vernauwden zich, terwijl ze de rook uitblies wachtend op mijn antwoord.

‘’Insecten.’’

Vanuit haar ooghoeken zag ik hoe er rook uit haar omhooggetrokken lippen kringelden, terwijl ze me met moederlijke zorg aankeek.

Dit gaf me enige mate van vrede, maar het beklemde mij ook.

We zaten stil naast elkaar, terwijl ik onze klasgenoten richting school zag lopen. De pauze was voorbij.

De stiltes waren aangenaam, niet gedwongen noch ongemakkelijk, maar erg vredig.

Wanneer er echter gesproken werd, waren het woorden van wijsheid uit haar mond terwijl ik met stotterende stem haar probeerde te volgen en te herhalen.

Glimlachend hiel ze dan haar handen door haar haar en legde mij op rustige toon uit wat ze bedoelde en ik bleef stil luisteren.

Ze was een en al charme en elegantie wanneer ze gepassioneerd sprak. Ik tuurde soms af naar haar wilde handbewegingen die ze maakte om haar woorden kracht te geven.

En na elke monoloog was er een korte stilte waarbij ik instemmend knikte om haar verhaal nogmaals te bevestigen.

Ze glimlachte wederom moederlijk naar me en zei met een hoge stem dar we naar school moesten.

De dagen vergingen en net als haar donkere kleren en asbak, werd haar humeur grimmiger.

Met geknepen ogen keek ze om haar heen. In haar handen kneep ze de uitgedoofde sigaret plat.

Spreken was een zeldzaamheid en wanneer ze sprak was het altijd formeel met veel ‘’dank je wel’’ en ‘’het vergaat je goed’’.

Wat er in haar omging durfde ik niet te vragen.

De zachte herfstdagen vervielen een koude strenge winter. De asbak rookte als de haard, terwijl de ene sigaret na de andere werd uitgerookt aan de lippen van een nors gerimpelde voorhoofd, ik deed zo af en toe gehoorzamend mee.

De eens zo fijne stiltes waren ongemakkelijk en onwennig.

Maar ik vroeg toch niks.

Een paar weken later had ik opgemerkt dat haar vaste plek naast mij leeg was.

De gebruikelijke goede vriendin zijnde, liep ik richting haar huis en opende met gemak haar altijd openstaande deur; ze zat daar met een kop thee in de woonkamer en staarde gefronst uit het raam.

Haar handen waren verder leeg en ze rook fris.

Ik moest glimlachen.

Speels riep ik naar haar toe en we zaten stil tegen over elkaar terwijl ze kijkend door haar wimpers thee zette.

‘Bliss, bliss and heaven.’ citeerde ik mezelf voor.

Eenmaal boven zaten we tegen over elkaar en sprak ze eindelijk:

‘Je rookt niet meer?’ terwijl ze zichzelf omhulde in een grijze sluier.

Ik staarde naar haar besneden roomkleurige huid en verzuchtte: ‘’Nee.’’

Bedachtzaam vormde een rimpeling op haar blanke voorhoofd en het deed me zenuwachtig haperen naar lucht.

‘’Er zit een kinderlijke onschuld in, he?’’ bracht ik er zo zorgeloos mogelijk uit. Ik stond op, liep heen en weer en draaide op mijn hielen met ogen vol licht.

‘’Laatst zag ik een hart.’’ en ik legde suggestief mijn hand op mijn borst. ‘’Waarschijnlijk klaargelegd voor een donor, het werd kunstmatig in leven gehouden.’’

De rimpel vernauwde zich en met getuite rode mond bedekte ze zichzelf weer in een grauwe sluier van as.

Ik ging door: ‘’Ik hield mijn adem in en probeerde het ritme te volgen van de hartslag, het ging moeizaam, maar uiteindelijk lukte het.’’ een verdwaasde glimlach verscheen op mijn mond en ik verschoof de gekrulde zwart krul die voor mijn oog bungelde.

‘’Op dat moment merkte ik opeens een warm gevoel, die ik alleen kan associëren met moederlijke liefde, begrijp je?’’

Ze snoof. ‘’Moederlijke liefde met een orgaan.’’

‘’Ja.’’

Ze knikte instemmend en keek naar de lucht. Nog voordat ik haar weerwoord kon geven, nam ze een pakje uit haar zwarte mantel en reikte het aan.

En nog voor ik er met mijn volle verstand bij was, reikte ik mijn hand uit.

Niet vele dagen later was ze verdwenen.

Haar ouders hadden mij opgebeld en ik kwam zo snel mogelijk aan. De zoektocht duurde niet lang aangezien ik wist waar ik moest kijken.

Ik rende met snelle tred naar het bovenste gedeelte van het huis en zakte op de bovenste tree in elkaar met mijn hoofd tegen de muur en de ogen geworpen naar de hemel.

Vaag in de verte kwam mij een bekende rooklucht tegemoet.

De hemel was grijs, mijn tranen zwart en haar lichaam bleek.

Dwang tot bestaan.

Dwang tot bestaan.

Het was nooit aan ons de keuze geweest om geboren te zijn in de eerste plaats.

En dat voornamelijk in deze wereld, waarin de afwezigheid van God meer dan ooit merkbaar, voelbaar is.

Zowel in de morele zin, waarbij Gods wil de grondbeginselen bepaalt voor onze ethiek, als in de praktische zin van het woord, waarbij hij de eeuwige waarheid met zich mee zou moeten dragen om de mensheid tot consensus te laten komen, is God of afwezig of indifferent.

Dat brengt een bepaalde sfeer van leegte met zich mee, waarbij ik niet enkel alleen op mezelf moet steunen, maar daarbij ook nog eens niet de steun bij een hogere macht kan vinden.

Eenzaam en koud, verward en leeg worden we de wereld in geworpen tussen andere soortgenoten, die het pad des levens in zoverre bewandeld hebben dat ze denken te kunnen oordelen over ons recht van bestaan.

Met andere woorden, de mens acht zich in dermate hoog genoeg om voor God te spelen en uit de weinige beschikbare middelen leven te doen ontstaan.

Of dit besluit bewust of onbewust is genomen, het zet een brandmerk op het kind waar het nooit vanaf zal komen.

Immers in deze dat hij, eenmaal geboren, gedwongen is te leven om daarna oftewel verder te leven of er al geheel een eind aan te maken.

Hoe het ook zij, mocht het kind toch een eind willen maken aan zijn leven, dan is hij in dermate impotent om daar een keuze over te maken, voordat hij zichzelf zo heeft ontwikkeld dat hij weet wie hij is en wat hij betekent voor zowel zijn omgeving als voor zichzelf.

Tegen die tijd is er enkel slaafse dwang van zijn omgeving, waar hij voor neer dient te buigen door zijn onvermogen de wereld en zichzelf te kunnen begrijpen.

Daarnaast heeft hij, geworpen in de wereld, geen andere keus dan dit te doen, omdat hij volledig vrij is geboren.

Daarmee bedoel ik dat hij de mogelijkheid heeft om zichzelf te maken tot iets wat hij later wil zijn.

Het problematische hieraan is, is dat zijn vrijheid beperkt wordt in de eerste levensjaren omdat hij nooit het vermogen had om zijn omgeving a priori tot zich te nemen en daar een keuze over te maken.

Nee, in de eerste levensjaren wordt het kind op marxistische wijze ingevuld met informatie, indrukken en geluid, gevoelens en vormen, waarna hij later een geheel kan gaan vormen.

Inderdaad is de mens vrij geboren, misschien is hij wel iets te vrij geboren waardoor het zijn indrukken aan de ander kan opleggen.

Het paradoxale hieraan is dat het kind enerzijds niet de mogelijkheid heeft zichzelf in te vullen omdat hij de wereld in is geworpen en anderzijds het noodzakelijk is dat hij ingevuld wordt omdat hij anders zichzelf niet verder kan realiseren.

Problematisch gezien levert dit het probleem op dat de mens eenmaal de keuze gemaakt hebbend in zijn leven, nooit de keuze kan keren en dus ook de consequentie ervan tot zich moet nemen omdat hij juist gedoemd is zo vrij te zijn.

Vreemd genoeg draagt de mens ook de invulling van zijn omgeving, die hij in zijn eerste levensjaren heeft verworven met zich mee en de daarbij komende consequenties.

Daar ontstaat de dubbelzinnigheid.

Enerzijds dat zijn jeugd bepalend is voor zijn latere levensjaren en voor de beperking aan keuzes die hij voorgelegd krijgt.

Anderzijds als het kind niet ingevuld wordt, , zodra de invulling van deze vrijheid niet begint, zodra de keuzes niet worden gemaakt waarmee hij zijn eigen essentie bepaalt, is hij paradoxaal genoeg een slaaf aan zijn eigen bestaan.

Hij stopt met existeren (dat wat de mens bestempelt tot mens!) en hij reduceert zichzelf tot een object.

Niet alleen jegens zijn omgeving, maar het meest jegens zichzelf.

De mens gedefinieerd

Gedwongen te bestaan leeft een mens nooit in isolatie, maar altijd te midden van andere lotgenoten.

De mens gedefinieerd hebbend als een behoeftig dier, is het er altijd op uit om zijn onderbewuste driften tot hun recht te laten komen.

Hierbij is het vaak niet bewust van zijn driften, totdat het in het bewustzijn vertaald wordt zodat het doel makkelijker behaald kan worden, niet door dierlijk instinctieve reflecties, maar door redelijk nadenken.

Tot deze behoeftes behoren de meest basale, zoals hongerdrift en seksuele ladingen dat tot hun climax moeten komen, zodat de mens weer terugkeert in een toestand van rust.

Wat de mens niet tot dier kan laten worden is het aspect dat zij door hun zelfbewustzijn een bepaalde weg kunnen afleggen om deze gedeelde driften tot ontlading te laten komen.

Dit creëert de persoonlijkheid.

Doorgaand op het zelfbewustzijn; het zelfbewustzijn is datgene wat de mens in staat stelt om zichzelf te verhouden tot zichzelf en zijn omgeving.

Sartre duidt dit aan met être-pour-soi, wat inhoudt dat de mens een zelf-creërende subject is dat zijn eigen essentie maakt door te streven naar het être-en-soi.

Het être-en-soi is datgene wat helemaal met zichzelf samenvalt, dat houdt in dat je jezelf niet meer creëert, maar zoals een God al volledig bent.

Het tegenstrijdende hieraan is dat je als mens nooit dit stadium kan bereiken omdat je gedoemd bent hierin te falen.

Deze wisselwerking vormt de speelruimte waarin de mens een subject is te midden van vele andere objecten die hij gebruikt om zichzelf te creeëren.

Er zit geen happy ending aan elk falen. De happy ending zit hierin dat je niet meer kan dan leven, punt.

Daar zit het hele leven in besloten. Namelijk dit, dat je alleen maar kan leven met zowel de goede als de slechte momenten.

Er komt geen daarna meer, er zit geen bedoeling in, omdat die bedoeling nooit in de wereld lag.

De objectieve buitenwereld functioneert enkel en alleen volgens de natuurwetten waaraan we ons niet kunnen onttrekken, het kent geen morele waardes, noch gedragsregels.  

Dit houdt in dat elke vorm van goed, slecht, mooi, lelijk of elke andere abstract begrip dat we aan de werkelijkheid toepassen enkel iets is wat binnen in onze hoofd bestaat, in onze wereld.

Voorwoord- Uitleg

Dit abstracte verhaal representeert de gewaarwording.

Het was nooit aan ons de keus geweest om in de wereld te zijn geworpen. Dat ik niet alleen een subject ben, maar dat iedereen een subject is, hoewel deze functie nooit zichtbaar tot zijn recht komt.

Zo meende ik eerst dat ik de mens zelf verafschuwde vanwege zijn objectivisering van de zelf.

Vervolgens stemde ik hiermee in en ging ik mezelf proberen objectiviseren, wat in hield dat je weigert om je eigen leven in te vullen, maar dat je jezelf bloot legt voor de wereld om te doen met je wat ze willen. Door daarbij passief te zijn in je existentie in plaats van actief en zelfbewust van elke handeling de consequenties te aanvaarden.

Oftewel stoppen met mens zijn.

Hoe hard ik toentertijd om te kunnen krioelen tussen de anderen, mijn poten waren enkel armen die konden grijpen naar een pen om de frustratie weg te schrijven.

Poëtisch braaksel noem ik dit ook wel.

Ja, ik merkte dat ik gek, gestoord, krankzinnig was, maar dat veranderde weinig aan hoe de realiteit op zichzelf was.

Alcohol kon deze fase verdrinken, maar het veranderde nog steeds weinig aan de realiteit.

Want zodra het eerste omhulsel gekraakt was (dacht je) van je medemens, wist je bij god niet welk van de twee lichamen de persoon was die zichzelf in de wereld positioneerde.

Sterker nog, weet de medemens zelf wel welk van de twee hij is of zijn ze allebei twee kanten van een mes waarmee ze in hun vleselijk bestaan snijden?

Nee het leven is niet lijden door andere mensen.

Het was lijden door de schijn van andere mensen, die zich bewogen van het mens zijn naar het dier-zijn, waarbij ze zekerheid verwierven over hun bestaan, maar steeds minder mens werden met deze dodelijk beslissing.

Had Nietzsche ooit gezegd dat God dood was, dat wij Hem hebben gedood, dan kan ik nu mededelen dat die kruistocht nooit is opgehouden, maar enkel is opgeschoven naar het uitmoorden van de mens.

De mens is stervende en dat hebben wij gedaan.

En de vraag over het nog te redden is nog maar de vraag, omdat ik me afvraag of we ooit mens waren geweest.

Het doorbreken van de pantsers zegt weinig over de echtheid van de binnenkant, waarbij de binnenkant twee kanten van dezelfde munt kunnen zijn.

En zoals ik, hebben velen onzekerheden in het leven, die ze verbergen met deze dubbelzinnigheid.

Wie ben ik echt? Wat wil ik eigenlijk? Ben ik momenteel niet gewoon een marionet die, zodra het losgeknipt wordt van de poppenspeler, uit pure wanhoop en ongemakkelijkheid zal proberen om de touwen aan elkaar vast te knopen? Wil ik keuzes maken en vrij zijn of wil ik in de zogenaamde structuur leven die ik tot vanzelfsprekend heb gemaakt, maar die wel mij een begin en eindpunt geeft in het leven?

Voor mij lijken de pantsers van de insectenlichamen waarin we onszelf opsluiten af te vallen.

Er is geen objectieve houvast, enkel de illusie van structuur in wat in onze categoriserende ogen lijkt op structuur.

Dit creëert wat ik aanduidt met het begrip neo-solipsisme. Dit is een stroming dat aansluit bij het filosofisch scepticisme, dat je nergens helemaal zeker over kan zijn.

Dit komt voort uit het idee dat niemand in de objectieve wereld leeft, maar in zijn eigen geest.

De objectieve wereld treedt door het subjectief filtertje heen en construeert hem op deze wijze. Dit toont aan dat de mens alles wat hij uit zijn omgeving haalt om zichzelf te construeren nooit waarneemt als Ding an sich, maar altijd als een Ding für sich.

Ieders leven is op die wijze geconstrueerd op indrukken, schijnen van de werkelijkheid.

Deze verschijnen zullen ook nooit en te nimmer zijn geest verlaten, maar in de bewegingsruimte van zijn vrijheid de invulling vormen voor de latere keuzes die hij zal maken in het leven.

Op die wijze leeft hij nooit in de wereld, maar altijd in zichzelf. In zijn eigen wereld.

Losse Gedachtes #1

In het leven is er niks wat enger en meer intimiderend is dan jezelf de wereld in te werpen en te kijken wat de reacties zullen zijn op jouw positie.

Niet alleen brengt het heel veel onzekerheid met zich mee, maar de dood die als een geduldige vriend op je wacht, doet mij des te meer realiseren hoe weinig tijd ik heb om mezelf te realiseren.

Daarnaast word ik diep ongelukkig van de tijdsnood, die mij dwingt tot handelen en daarentegen de omgeving die je maar in bepaalde richtingen duwt, de illusie gevend dat je enige mate van vrijheid bezit.

Kafka heeft ooit het volgende gezegd: ‘’I have the true feeling of myself when I am unbearably happy unhappy.’’

Waarin begrip voor de omgeving uitmondde in diepe droefenis wegens bedrukking en machteloosheid, maar daarnaast de noodzaak van de wisselwerking waarbij je je eigen vrijheid moet invullen en deze machteloosheid ter hand moet nemen.

Dacht ik eens de begripvolle zuster te zijn uit zijn Metamorfose, was ik eigenlijk het ongedierte zelve te midden van andere ongedierte, die of niet bewustzijn van hun insect-zijn of het wensen te negeren.

Ze krioelen en naderen mij, wanneer ze kwijlend langs en over elkaar heen kruipen.

Wanneer hun takvormige armen verstrengeld raken in elkaar om een paringsdans of iets in die trant voor te stellen, kauw ik op mijn eigen armen, niet in staat om ook maar de illusie op te kunnen wekken mijn lichaamstemperatuur aan de ander aan te passen.

Zo ook zit ik opgesloten in mijn insectenpantser van diep ongeluk.

Nu en dan steek ik mijn hoofd naar buiten, maar de geur van de over elkaar wrijvende schilden branden mij in de neus.

Durf ik toch mijn intrede te doen in hun insectenlegioen, dan is hun eigen gedaante diep verborgen.

Onlangs was er echter sprake van een gesprek, die, zo dierlijk als ik toen was, werd uitgelokt met snoep en verwennerij.

En naarmate onze kelen niet enkel gezoem en gepiep lieten horen, maar menselijk geluid, zo scheen het dat ik een glimp van menselijkheid had gezien in de ander.

Zowaar lukte het mij om kilo’s lichter te worden, na uit het verduvelde insectenpak gestapt te zijn.

Mijn onwennige keel deed pijn door de frisse buitenlucht die nieuw leven in mij blies.

Met nieuwe ogen keek ik de wereld tegemoet en ik voelde de warmte van andermans blik door mijn schedel dringen en opvlammen in het binnenste van mijn breinmassa.

Het eerste wat ik uit kon brengen was: ‘’La vie, c’est pas souffrir.’’

Mijn zintuigen dwaalden meteen af naar de koude pantsers die zich een weg baanden om en door elkaar heen.

En zo werd de vlam in mij des te groter om de pantsers te doen verbrijzelen.

En zo deed ik dat ook.

Ze kraspten heerlijk open als knarsende herfstbladeren op een koude oktoberdag.

En op dat moment knapte er ook iets in mij.

De dubbelzinnigheid van het bestaan werd me opeens duidelijk en met elk gebroken insectenhuid werd de dubbelzinnigheid groter en scherper dan ooit.

Er was op dit moment niks moeilijker dan door iemand heen te kijken en te begrijpen dat ook zij zoals jij in massale groepen de wereld in waren geworpen, gedwongen om te leven.

‘’In elk mens heeft ooit een levenskunstenaar gezeten,’’ gonsde er door mijn hoofd,

maar zonder het zelf te weten beschermde ze zichzelf voor henzelf.’’ maakte ik de zin hardop af.

Gebroken en in diggelen was men naakt.

De ogen werden afgewend en ze beschermden met hun handen de roosgekleurde gezichtsuitdrukkingen.

De mens is volwassen geworden.

Essay on Freedom (Existentialism)

Vind ik leuk

Reageren

Delen

Theme 5 - Ethics
‘All systems of morality are based on the idea that an action has consequences that legitimize or cancel it. A mind imbued with the absurd merely judges that those consequences must be considered calmly. It is ready to pay up. In other words, there may be responsible people, but there are no guilty ones.’’
-Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus (1942)

Whenever I think of Camus, I wonder what stops us all from committing suicide. After all, according to the existentialism, life has no meaning.
Life is always an intense battle between becoming someone you want to be and coming to consensus with whom you were in the past.
Thrown into the world without an essence and forced to use the world to your advantage as disadvantage to become who you want to be.
This paradox of existence is something that only a human has to undertake, because we have the fortune as misfortune of being able to reflect on who we were, who we are and who we want to be.
With this grand task that has to be carried out throughout our whole life, what exactly is this paradox I am speaking of?
The paradox I am speaking of is the paradox of freedom in our existence.
Every single one of us, no exceptions made, has been thrown into this world without our consent or our disagreement. We never had the choice to reflect on the world we are thrown in. Namely, for such a thing to take place it is necessary for us to be able to have a consciousness, that makes us take every step we are going to take in consideration and then ask itself the question: Do I or do I not want to be a part of this world, as this person in this environment?
And this isn’t the case. Consciousness and self-reflection can only take place the moment it can even out events to one another that take place in the subjective and physical world and to then take the conclusion whether its actions and the consequences of these actions appeal to it or not.
Which simply means, there was no I before the existence.

I can now state that we have been born completely freely, without any strings attached to us that swing us towards the path of life we are obligated to follow.
The paradox of existence is this: with every decision we take, we become less and less free.
With every observation and thought we encounter, we are filling ourselves with information and becoming less free. Less free in the sense, that it is difficult for us to begin from a total point zero and then work towards an alternative style of thinking and living.
The unfortunate part is, that we can’t blame the invisible strings for what we have become. We can’t blame our environment either.
After all, weren’t we thrown freely into the world to make any choice we want?
Sartre would be nodding yes, because you always had the choice to do something else; now that you made your current choice, it is necessary for you to take the consequences and live with it.
With that said, with every step we are taking we have become less and less free. We have become a slave to our own existence, because there is no escape and there is no one else to blame except for you.

This raises the next question: why don’t we all just commit suicide?
Life sounds difficult, it seems pointless and I have just shown you that we have no one else to blame except ourselves.
The answer I am going to give you is very simple.
Although many claim that suicide is an act of freedom, it is in my eyes an act of imprisoning yourself forever.
By committing suicide, you are not freeing yourself from this world.
No, you are taking away any possible chance of becoming another you. You are taking away your freedom of choice, how limited those choices may seem; because by being dead there is no chance that a person can realize and manifest himself in this world anymore.
This shows us that we have no choice but to exist.
And this is the grand paradox of being human and the freedom of choice.

Camus states: ‘’A mind imbued with the absurd merely judges that those consequences must be considered calmly. It is ready to pay up.’’
-The Myth of Sisyphus (1942)
With that said, he has made a select group of people who have this special mindset and they are willing to take any consequences that come out of their actions.
Suddenly though, he draws the line from this select group of people, to all the people that exist.
‘’There may be responsible people, but there are no guilty ones.’’
What does this say about his statement? I can only conclude that Camus assumes that every person on this planet thinks about every action he makes and is willing to accept the consequences that it brings.
That is not the case and I will explain why.
The moment we have been thrown into this world, we had nothing to work with. With that I mean, we had no moral structures, we didn’t even have the ability to speak. Is it possible to accept of a baby to take full responsibility of his actions, when there was nothing before his existence and almost no information after his existence?
Now let me extend that a bit more.
In our life, we never are able to predict all possible outcomes of every possible action in whole the world. Instead we merely narrow down, by past experience, the best possible action we can take at that moment without being one hundred percent sure of the outcome. We only assume the most plausible outcome possible.
That is why I used the baby as an example. We have nothing to work with at the beginning, but the more we live the more narrow our choice of actions become; this doesn’t mean that we can be more certain about the outcome with every year we age.
With that said, what Camus assumes is not something that is, but how it should be.
It is very important to make this distinction between something that is the case and something we think should be the case.
And unfortunately what is the case is the fact that we can’t take full responsibility of our actions.
However, as I have stated before, we can use the world to our advantage and make ourselves into something we want to be, with the unfortunate side effect of always being in risk of being guilty of immoral behavior.
Fortunately though we can narrow down this risk by learning the system of morality and using it to our advantage.
After a large period of time we have learned more and more and we will never be finished with learning, because there are always unpredictable situations that urge us to learn more about our morality and ourselves - although having learned enough to function properly in our society.

With that said, we have learned that behind every action lie consequences that we are responsible for.
However, I can’t make the claim that we aren’t guilty, because we are.
This merely means that with every immoral action that goes against the systems of morality, we learn where we can line the borders of our freedom.
And everyone that crosses that border has never understood the long and hard road that took us towards the border of the systems of morality.

The Meaning of Facing Death

The Meaning of Facing Death

‘’They tell us that suicide is the greatest piece of cowardice... that suicide is wrong; when it is quite obvious that there is nothing in the world to which every man has a more unassailable title than to his own life and person.’’

- Arthur Schopenhauer

I am often told by my closest friend that looking up at the sky can cause the most intense feelings.

It will make you feel small, insignificant, unimportant. As if you are just a speck of dust in a whole galaxy of stars.

On the other side, it can cause a strange sensational feeling of power. Knowing that the things, that may seem the most important to you, won’t matter in the long run.

This begs the question whether I should see my life as significant as I do or whether it is, like myself, a undefinable small accident caused by the universe itself.

Let me rephrase myself: is it courageous of me to think of my life as important as I do or am I really just replaceable?

And if so, how courageous can it be for me to end my life at any point I desire to?

To begin with, it is a fact that it has never been our personal choice to be born. Whether you enjoy life or despise it, you have always been placed on this earth without your own permission.

After all, how is it even possible for us to choose life? For something like that to take place, it is necessary to have consciousness and lots of experience to evaluate the value of your own life and to then decide whether it is worth living or not.

Knowing that this is impossible, this will lead us to us the conclusion that we are humans placed on the world without our own permission.

What the exact relation between a human and the world is, can be explained in two substations, namely consciousness and matter.

Consciousness is that which makes me aware of my own being and the matter is that which carries my consciousness.

The process that takes place between that, which takes place inside my subjective ability and that, which the worlds puts inside of me in the form of information, forms who I am.

I am therefore a series of processes going back and forth between my inner machine and the outside world.

There is one thing though that makes my consciousness a little bit different than the consciousness of an animal and that’s the fact that I am also self-aware.

With other words, I am a self-conscious being.

The fact that I am self-conscious does also mean that I am limited by my perception of reality and my subjective ability of judging that reality.

However, there are a few things that I can be certain about.

The first is that we will never be able to perceive something that is good on its own, because we are limited by ourselves to perceive that.

This consequently means that everything that is being labelled as good or wrong is in fact a judgment based on someone’s own interpretation of reality, rather than the real reality.

Even so, we are still social creatures.

So what we do is that we adapt our abstract concept of thinking into something that is valid and the most passable for every person in order to make our lives more liveable.

And because I have stated, that we live because of each other and grow up with one another, this raises the question when it is your own decision to commit suicide and when it is due to your environment that you have been driven to commit such an act.

Of course it is due to your environment that you are driven into such an act.

It is the same as any other act that isn’t based on satisfying the primary needs.

Your very own sub-consciousness has been filled with your environment from the moment you were born. There is no escaping of it.

This fact degenerates the human into a machine, that only gathers information and spits it out into its environment.

That is not what I am trying to say.

Surely the human is a machine, but it is not just a machine. It is more than a machine.

Unlike a machine, every human has the ability to dream and fantasize, to create a free space in which he can move freely and reason with himself before taking any harsh decisions.

And exactly this way of existing and being is what makes us more human than machine.

The fact that we can look at ourselves at the environment in such transcendent way and then do what seems right at that moment.

When a person with suicidal thoughts does exactly this, he is no longer a part of the world, but he has transcended that.

This may cause a trigger in which that person realizes that Death is an escape from the fusion between his consciousness and the world.

People who look at themselves in such a manner have long been mentally death.

They decide on that, which is their very own property.

Taking this last step is not brave nor cowardly.

Committing suicide is only the last chapter in their book of life, in which they take the last step to close it.