Friday

Sometimes you get the feeling like all your life, all your readings, all your pastimes, they all lead towards one conclusion, one epic revelation. One thought that sparks within the confines of your brain cells like it has always been there. A gentle throb, almost like a heartbeat that you cannot escape without at the same time giving up on life. A brick wall that has always been staring you in the face, waiting for the inevitable collision that you try to postpone for as long as possible. And you run from it. You hide from it. You ignore it. But there is no escape. The harder you push, the harder it pulls you back.

I am talking about the endless quest for meaning. Libraries and libraries have been filled with philosophical literature on the subject and still no answer in sight. Or at least not a pretty one. We all need something to wake up for in the morning. Be it exams or hunger or a cause or a job. But what does it all add up to in the end? Should we live for ourselves or for others? Should we embody goodness and morality or just experience life in its raw form without any limits or concerns for what we leave behind? Does it even matter in the end?

I am sometimes so tired of all this philosophical debate. Everything seems pointless. Pompous. Arrogant. We talk to pass the time. To give ourselves importance. Because maybe that is what life is about. To be noticed. If somebody is thinking about you, then you did your job right. If people like your status or your picture, then you somehow feel like you matter. Within your own little microcosm, you have your time in the spotlight. Even if that means only the one second that it took to press a virtual button on a dusty screen. It is better than nothing. It means that for that one second you occupy a space in another person's consciousness. Our worst fear is not disease nor famine nor war. Anyway these concepts only exist on a theoretical level in our minds. No, it is to be forgotten. Invisible. To die alone of a heart attack and to be found only a week later when the smell makes our physical presence unbearable anymore.

We embody a devil-may-care culture during the day and cry ourselves to sleep like children during the night. We pretend to be strong because nobody wants to see flowers when they are withering away and smelling of decay. We are all so lost that we can only be attracted to idols who inspire us to be better and greater. Does it matter that the idols themselves are nothing but images? Every role model has to crumble once in a while. At least during the intermission. The show can go on afterwards.

We are so scared to make goodbyes final. Nobody says "have a nice life" and actually mean it. It has to be disguised into an "maybe we'll see each other again". Even when there is no intention nor desire to do so. "Let's stay friends". The magic pacifier. Because "I never want to speak to you again" seems so harsh. Still better than "I sometimes forget you exist". Rejection and indifference seem inevitable in this world where the population is constantly growing and the distance disappearing. We are all squished into a tiny room with all the faces blending in together and becoming simply part of the decorum. And there comes the need to stand out. Because your options are to either reject the whole ordeal or to sign the social contract. But the first one is only really there to make you feel like there actually is a choice to be made. There isn't. Nobody can be self-sufficient. Even Robinson Crusoe had Friday. And we all need our Fridays. But Friday only comes once a week.