I have long been haunted by a suspicion: that the cursed is always the blessed in disguise, and I wonder how long I need to really realize this. To me, the most cursed thing is my existence. I am somehow thrown into this world without my consent, and I will be thrown out of existence, also without my consent. Given this innate incapability, I hope to take charge of the in-betweens—those moments that seem maneuverable, if only my will is strong enough. Unfortunately, things have always been not what I thought they should be. If life and death render me powerless, then the life, in between life and death, is perhaps the true disaster.
How so? I could not be sure whether there was any pre-existing will that constituted my life, but I am sure that, at this current moment, I would not want to exist. My existence is tied to this world so strongly that it has become a parasite, perpetually feeding on the world’s grand cultural landscape. And I would say, things are chaotic right now: the people, the invisible cultural trap that besieges one with existential threats. The thing is, it might not be existence that is loathed, but this very specific type of existence that is blindly worshipped.
But to think more deeply, everything somehow circulates back to where it all started. The first instant of being born is the first moment of limitation; one’s being is exactly his own cage, without which there will never be any conceived threats at all, nor will there be anyone who’s faced with such an existential crisis and takes the way to freedom very seriously. The adventure to freedom must be very thrilling! It gives one experience granted by his own limitation; without such limits, the concept is superfluous, and so is the one who longs for freedom, because there was no trap and no one trapped in the beginning. So I am wondering again, is the curse of existence a blessing in disguise? Something-ness and nothingness, which one?