Existentialist, Another Part of Me

In many occasions I am an existentialist. Albeit this individualist concept has been confronted by so many clergymen in general and the collectivists, yet, I think this philosophical doctrine is essential in my life. I have read so many books regarding the power of mind and its significance in the self; I, therefore, think that I am the one who is responsible for putting meaning into me. 

Semiotically speaking, I am a text; my name is the signifier of the concept of me and I am the signified of my name. I choose my name to mean something through the representation of my conceptions. If I do not put meaning into me, then, I am nothing but an empty signifier.

The meaning of existentialism is of course very broad; I however, will only use the aforementioned concept.

I see the world and all its content as an enigma and I am here to interpret this enigma to myself. So too others, people interpret this enigma differently to themselves. That is why I do not really think of what others may think of me because I am what I think about me.

I am not saying that I am an atheist who believe nothing but me. I do think that God really has His power over me, yet I will not just sit and wait for something to happen. God is the author of the book of my life. I can do nothing about the beginning, the ending and some parts of the story, yet I still can do many things about it and I can create interesting twist and turn to be the ornaments of my life.

One says that life is about living happily and creating new life. I nonetheless think that if it is so, then what is in a life? An ant, fly and rat are also alive and producing life. It must be something in this life more than just being alive. There must be something meaningful about life that is when we are willing to sacrifice our life for the sake of another important reasons; it can be for someone or something. I have been wondering that million deaths of my anonymous predecessors in the history of the liberty of humanity are more than just a puff of smoke in the oblivious past.

How about me? 

I do not know how many meanings I have invested into my simple life—whether or not it is enough to make me worthy of living—and its significance to others. When I died, I do not know how long does it takes until my name is pronounced for the last time; it sometimes bothers me.

Pretending 

For so many times I do pretend to myself as if I am a glossy, good, smart, and high-leveled man because I am what I think about me. If I thought that I am a lousy, low-leveled, and desperate guy, those are the quality of what I shall be. By pretending, I have the psychological advantages to at least put one of my feet into the quality I desirously wanted to be, not to mention the confidence I will gain.

Nihilist, a Little Part of Me

So far, I neither have anybody to throw my hatred at, nor do I antagonize anyone but myself; especially when I turned into a nihilist. 

At times, my ego seems to force me to think in the frame of this philosophical belief. By that time, I start thinking that my life is really pointless, meaningless, and only an ephemeral journey into blackness. I, moreover, continue pondering that all people in this world—including me—are doing merely boring and nonsense routines that lead into emptiness of death and inevitable oblivion. 

Before I was born into this world, I believe that I was somewhere which is better than this place, then, through an action which is the main biological function of all creatures—breeding—I was thrown into this filthy ‘pool’ in which then I soon become a filthy creature as well. No matter how often I take a bath, I stay filthy because everything in this universe is a mere filth. The only way I can make myself clean is to get out of this world, either through death or a transcendental contemplation in which I am incapable of doing in this helter-skelter parody of grim reality—there is even no longer reality in this chaotic world; the word ‘reality’ is only used to explain the concept of the long-gone-reality before it is contaminated by the idiocy of human ideologies in this realm of nothingness.

When I was a child, my parents overwhelmed me with their constant dreams and expectations which they were incapable of achieving in their life. I was taught their conceptions from other people’s conception of virtues, truth, righteousness, and norms constructed by the manipulative powerful politicians. By that time, now, and most likely until the end of my so-called life, I have been inhaling carbon monoxide, swallowing poison, contributing in a mass stupidity of arbitrary conventions, and annually celebrating the withering of me of what-so-called birthday.

In the interpersonal relationship, I feel all people hate me in everything that I do, since everything—either it is good or bad—will always be reflected badly in every retina of all gibbering spectators. I have nobody to share and nobody to talk to.

From all those thoughts I started being a nonchalant, egoistic bastard anyone has a misfortune of meeting.

These are few examples out of my myriads thoughts about my life when I am somehow turned into a nihilist, the dismissive of the virtues, and the follower of the nothingness. 

A nihilist part of me is the only problem I have—since I found it easy to deal with all problems that come from outside—so far. 

I see myself as a calm and patient person who always thinks before I do anything. My nihilist part, however, is merely a side effect of the latent anger I barely express.

In a normal situation, I am, actually, a mixture outcome of existentialism and predeterminism.

Used To #2

Again, I woke up with my heart pumping; my perspiration soaked me with all the fear and confusion of this repeated dream. I dreamt about my grandma. I saw the reflection of her as if a dispersed light amidst the unlimited blackness that started scratching me out. 

‘The concept of lose’, I said to myself and sighed, ‘I never understand those things.’

Like a tiny nostalgic spark, I remembered a story my grandma told me a few years ago about a young man who love a woman. Although I’d never known the ending of their story, their story was the best one I ever known apart from all the romantic scenes; yet that was the love in this real world.

I—along with my mom—walked to open my shop. This small shop was a little bit different after the death of my grandma. I used to lay by my grandma’s lap, listening to all the stories she told me enthusiastically. I remembered her wrinkled face and her smile.

Like usual, on Sunday, there were always many people jogged from everywhere to get some rest in here, ordered some pieces of gorengan and milk. These things, however, reminded me of my late grandma. She used to be here, taking the order and smiling to everyone.

Suddenly, I saw a tall young man sitting on the bamboo bench by himself, looking exhausted. It seemed to me that I knew this man even though I’d never seen him. He was the perfect picture of the character my late grandma had always told me about. 

After ordering a glass of milk, he sat, looking into the void. I was wondering what he was thinking, whether it was the young woman or not. I really wanted to ask him, yet I kept thinking of the way of asking which was less awkward.

Suddenly, I heard him ask me, “Where is the granny?”

“She is not here anymore”, said I, as I looked down.

“I am sorry to hear that, I haven’t been here for a long time”, he looked shocked, then he added, “she was a nice old lady; I can see from the warmth of her gaze.”

“Indeed”, I took a deep breath and said, “She used to tell me her stories about her and my grandpa, and juxtapose them with yours”.

“Did she?” he looked awkward. 

“Yeah”, I grinned, “your story is one of the inspiring ones to my grandma, and I bet you never expect that it is the best story I have ever known.”

“That was a nice hyperbole anyway”, he laughed, “You, then, have to watch and read better romance stories, kid”.

“I’m not a kid”, I snapped up. Then, enthusiastically I asked, “Can you tell me the next sequel your story with that young woman, please”

“O God”, he sighed, “It just did not work out, kid. Anyway, it is what is supposed to be.”

“But why?” I crossed, “You will make a good couple. My grandma told me that you love her wholeheartedly. She said that you two are supposed to be tied together with the bond of love.”

He laughed as if it was so funny, what an annoying man. I, then, went inside my shop.

“Hey kid”, he called, “I did bestow my love upon her, but somehow everything is just losing by itself. It is the concept of lost. You may lose someone abruptly, in a gap between two blinks of eyes”; now, he looked as if he meant it, “…or you may begin losing pieces of someone, until one day, there is naught.”

“But you are my favorite character”, my eyes wet, “You supposed to struggle for her and live happily ever after.”

“There are many good people out there, kid. I am nothing but a worthless young man who is overwhelmed by the hatred of all people around me.”

He grinned. I somehow could see beyond his calm and ignorant face that he was in grief. 

“Life is different from all the stories about life. It, however, is not necessarily worse or less beautiful. Anyway, it depends on whether this person is worth struggling or not, kid.” He explained, “When some people come as a blessing, some others come as a lesson.”

I kept silent.

“Things work not the way you want, but the way it is supposed to be. You will know it when you grew up, kid”, he added.

“I did not understand”, I said, “What am I supposed to say to my grandma then?”

“Tell her that we live separately and happily ever after”, he said before he disappeared.

Right Hemisphere, Love, and Academic Life

Have you ever experienced a situation wherein you are incapable of adding any word into your paper? I was.

Have you ever spent a night—or two—sitting in front of your computer, watching the words in your final paper dancing as if they were mocking at you? While in other situation, you can write twenty-page-long story in hours? I was.

This is not about the capability or incapability of expressing thoughts, my friends; this is about loving or hating something—in this case, a subject.

This semester, when I read some research and articles on brain—for my presentation—I got bored reading the facts about left hemisphere of the brain, so without any serious purposes, I  leisurely clicked on other articles about the right hemisphere of the brain. That day, I found out that there is somewhere in our brain that affects our feeling and impression on everything.

Okay, I know this things about left and right hemisphere of the brain may baffle you, friends. So let’s make it simpler.

Due to the lateralization, our brain is divided into two hemispheres, in our right hemisphere, there is a hormone called Dopamine—the generic term is the Pleasure Center. This Dopamine controls our impression on everything. Science, moreover, has proven that the brain of someone who is in love is similar with the one of the drug users, and this thing is because of the Dopamine.

When we love something—or someone—our brain will release the Dopamine that makes everything pleasurable. When we hate something—like some particular subjects—it happens conversely, that is the condition in which we are nagging, crying, sighing, or even cursing on the things we hate, and we cannot do or have.

It happened to me on previous semesters when I hate a subject, the universe seems to make everything related to that subject frustrating.

In this semester, however, I love—or trying to love—all the subjects I take. For that reason, no matter how hard those subjects rained me with the overwhelming assignments, the Dopamine released by my right hemisphere creates a state of pleasurable atmosphere in my mind. It is like the universe conspires to help me finish all the assignments.

That is why I can finish all assignment in the matter of minutes—or hours.

It also goes to people, when we love someone, our right hemisphere release the Dopamine; therefore, it seems like the universe starts romanticizing everything that makes us happy.

So, start loving and keep loving things—or people!

P.S. I do not put any reference regarding this post because I read it a long time ago, and again, I forget the sources. It is a mere intermezzo of mine, in the middle of editing on my proposal. Anyway, thanks to the scientists for such a good inspiration.