“why?” the first question we ask our parents when we are young. “brush your teeth,” “do your homework”… why? Parents now use the statement “because I said so” as a vague authoritarian statement. Even now as a first-year in college, I ask myself the same question; why?
I go to school to get a job, to make money and support a family, and I do all of this to make a better life for myself, but why? To be happy? Greed and jealousy spout from wealth. Maybe there is an anxiousness to the unknown, and unknowing of what I want to do when I am through with college, but more often than not I find myself pushing to do something only to stop and ask why. Listening to an old man stand before my lecture hall talking about sitcoms in the fifties-making a connection to media and today- I can’t help but wonder why the hell this is an assistant to my happiness. I had often thought that we lived on the idea of complete procreation; that as cells our job was to make more and in that keeping up our species, only to have society throw layer upon layer of trivial ideologies at us. And while I don’t completely disregard that mentality, I feel the more and more I think about life and our existence the less and less I understand, has society just screwed with a perfectly plain lifestyle? Has society toyed with the faults and vices of humanity, changing its priorities?
People try to picture heaven and God to be selfish. Maybe with this notion that we’ll all be together again, we focus less on the immediate intensity of the human emotionally capabilities of love and anger; we focus on the mundanities of the self. Perhaps there is no heaven and this is it, this is all we’ll ever know. Are we better off going through life without knowing more than names and faces? Or knowing what life really means? Does wanting to change the world and learning all its faults in humanity make us better people or just pessimistic?
“I’m sick of not feeling anything. I laugh cause I should, never cry. Smile to be polite. I lvoe without true feelings. No tingles, no surges of engery run through my blood. Music becomes a drug, I exist because I can listen and breath. But for what? We shall all die soon. With the hope of all knowing death will be my relief. The numbness is killing me. I am loosing what little of me stays on. Why?”
