Suddenly I see Why the hell it means so much to me

Had a bathroom epiphany; ive not been getting many of them recently so i was pleasantly surprised when i launched into this whole self-analysis on the reasons for my half in-denial half melancholic state nowadays. While it is true that no matter how many epiphanies i have life moves on just as sluggishly as it previously would, im glad that for once i finally came just this itty-bitty bit close to finding the true purpose of life; of my life.

Ever since i was young ive always been drawn to the vitality, the rawness and the beauty of life in many different areas; be it in the unending imagery released within the lines of a carefully crafted novel, or from the immediacy of various art forms; music, fine art, film, plays, and possibly almost every other avenue you can think of. While life clearly needed to be supported by its daily sustenance of money, technology and logic, it was the undefined, the illogical, the illusionary that drew out the essence of living-- at least in my case.

These past 18 years have molded my character, sharpened my perspectives and honed my thinking; but one thing that didn't change was my zest for life and the outlets through which i sought to express it. Even though there were times in my life where the tide stemmed or waived, just like water flowing downhill, it would always seek some other way of expression. However, ive also made my own fair share of mistakes in this search, succumbing to the superficial lures of the world and resorting to childish, hypocritical acts in a skewed, failed attempt to ascertain the reason for my existence.

While i acknowledge the recurrence of my flaws that occur sometimes simply as a by-product of bad habits not curbed earlier, sometimes i do berate myself badly for my mistakes. After all it doesn't take a genius to spot them once you don't get caught in the whirl of the moment.

It always takes me quite a while to realise that being human requires us not to blame ourselves for the very factor of our humaneness; our faults. Even when i do im not sure if my right brain is trying to convince my left brain of its apparent stupidity; always unable to make out a straight answer from the many thoughts that form in my grey matter. But this is precisely why there is simply no blue-print to living the perfect life-- for we gain perfection in our flaws, beauty in our simplicity, wisdom in our imperfections.

Beating the "A" Levels is no mean feat, considering the chances of failure is high with Serangoon's bleak odds of one failure for every two students. But does failing your "A" Levels mean you are a failure? Are you willing to let society label, usurp and assume your identity without you even trying to understand yourself? Even though it seems extremely easy at first, it comes with a high price-- for you lose your sense of self-worth and the drive to establish it, the very quality that pushes Man to seek past the boundaries of the impossible.

I don't know about you, but i think i've finally found one reason in my current context that pushes me to excel past who i am now in order to achieve who i am to become, learning from who i was before. And that reason simply is-- i want to live.

Someone once quoted Albert Einstein, "I have never belonged wholeheartedly to a country, a state, nor to a circle of friends, nor even to my own family. When I was still a rather precocious young man, I already realized most vividly the futility of the hopes and aspirations that most men pursue throughout their lives. Well-being and happiness never appeared to me as an absolute aim. I am even inclined to compare such moral aims to the ambitions of a pig."

Similarly, every new dawn breaches 24 hours of painfully unequal proportions of blessing and disaster. If i lived just so i could ensure material wealth for my family and i, or so i could engage all my senses in experiencing the pleasures of life, or solely in pursuing the sordid dreams of my half-blind childhood, then what is the meaning of life? For with death, all of these would be robbed from me instantaneously, into nothingness. But if every step towards the unknown, every new experience, every hair i drop as a result of stress brings me just one step closer in understanding the reasons for my existence, there and then, i am satisfied.

At least, im not afraid to venture past what's comfortable in order to understand. To learn, even if it comes with pain. At least when i die, i would know i lived, imperfect, but courageous. So what if the arts dont make me a rich woman? I shall die a poor and reasonably satisfied one then.


Knowledge on its own is useless. Knowledge, coupled with wisdom, and moral guidance, is my own flawed blueprint in weathering the torrid blows of life. This is my life, this is my conscience, this is my dream, this is my death.