Live for?
What am I living for?
I started to ask myself that question a lot since yesterday. I might have asked myself the same question in the past, but never really thought into it or inspected inside of me. In those times, I had something I wanted to accomplish, so those things can be conveniently used as answers. I want to get my degrees; I want to find an ideal job in Chicago; or I need to get out of Great Barrington; or things like that. Now that I have kind of settled in Hoboken, and there seems no more convenient answers for me.
When I was talking to my mom, every time she urged me to find a partner, start a family, and raise a child, she always said only then do I have hope for life. “You are my hope,“ she said. “Without you life loses its purpose and meaning.“ I always laughed at it and never took it seriously, because I don’t think using child as an excuse for filling the empty life of yours is right. But as I was trying to find the answer to the question I asked myself last night, what she said suddenly doesn’t sound bad at all. At least she has something to live for. What about me?
Do I live for someone? No. I don’t have friends that I’d expose all myself to. I don’t have partners. I want to be in a relationship, but I just don’t think I’m that attractive or lovable. I was attracted to some of my students, though I know it’s so wrong. They are still babies. One close student told me he’s turning 20 today. When I was 20 I was not even sure if I’m gay or not. I’m 10 years older than him, and I feel I’m just a garbage to be attracted to him: I’m taking advantage of someone vulnerable. Of course I’m not going to do anything; I just hate myself for that thought. Even if he turns out to be gay, how could he like me? Lonely people always misunderstood friendliness and kindness as love.
Do I live for something else? Traveling the world? Nope. My work? Nope. Myself? Maybe, but if I think myself is just like trash, how could I live for myself? If we couldn’t find the meaning of living, or something that’s worth living for, aren’t we just existing? And what’s the difference, then, to being dead?
The only thing that I can think of is my parents. That’s probably the only connection I have. When they leave the world one day, my connection to the world is cut entirely also, I guess. Hopefully by then I’d have found the meaning of living.
I’m so in the mood of listening to GARNET CROW’s songs right now, especially those dark ones. And suddenly the meaning of the lyrics emerged and became crystal clear.
花は咲いて ただ揺れて
甘い匂い誰を誘うともなく
雨に濡れ いつか遠く飛び立つ夢をみても…
花はただその性(さだめ)
途切れぬように咲いた
