Why Am I Here?
(...and Other Useless Questions)
Welcome, lost soul. If you're reading this book, it's because you, like millions of other lost souls, have asked yourself: "Why am I here?" Ah, the great existential question-the one that has plagued humanity for centuries, spawning philosophies, religions, and some truly questionable coffee mugs. And guess what? The answer you're looking for doesn't exist. Or rather, it might exist... but I'm not telling you, because-well-it's a trap.
Yes, I know. You probably cracked open this book hoping for a sudden beam of enlightenment, a revelation that would solve all your existential dilemmas and make you exclaim, "Ah, now I understand!" Sorry to disappoint, but you'll have to keep searching-because this book has no answers, only more questions. Why? Because that's how the universe works, dear reader. Answers are nothing but conceptual bear traps. The secret of the cosmic journey is to keep walking, never stopping. If you stop, well... you're doomed to be confused forever. But don't worry-you're not alone.
The Paradox of Useless Questions
The question "Why am I here?" is one of the most useless you can ask-and yet here we are, talking about it. There's a saying: "Seek and you shall find." But what they don't tell you is that finding an answer-especially to this question-won't make you happier. In fact, it'll probably just make you more confused. The closer you get to the answer, the more you realize you can never quite reach it. It's like a mirage in the universe of answers: always there, never close enough to touch.
Imagine you're in a forest, surrounded by tall, shadowy trees. You look around and wonder, "How did I get here?" You stare at your hands, question who you are. And in that exact moment, the Universe decides to have a little fun. While you're spinning in philosophical circles, you'll see him-the Regret Collector.
The Regret Collector
The Regret Collector is a curious figure. You won't find him in any tourist guide or cosmic encyclopedia, because his work hides between the folds of the useless. His mission? To gather every regret that haunts you, every decision you think you botched. Each time you make a choice and sigh, "Ah, I should've done it differently," he's there-taking notes.
The Regret Collector doesn't talk much. He doesn't need to. Every time you dwell on something you did-or didn't do-he offers you an enigmatic smile. He's never surprised, because, like a clockmaker who knows every gear in a broken timepiece, he already knows where your thoughts will end up. He's seen you. He's collected you. You just don't know it yet. No regret is too small or insignificant for him. His collection is infinite.
"Another mistake, huh?" he might say, in a tone both neutral and oddly inviting. "Let's add it to the collection." His smile is never malicious-it's just... inevitable.
And in a way, he's doing you a favor. He's organizing the chaos of your inner universe. Every regret you hand over is one step closer to realizing that, in the end, there's nothing to regret at all. Everything you've lived has brought you to this very moment. But don't get too comfortable-there's still plenty left for him to collect.
A Philosophical Analysis of Nothing
The idea of nothing is fascinating, isn't it? If you've made it this far, you might be wondering: "Why does it take us so long to figure out what we're doing here?" The answer is as simple as it is unsettling: because nothing is our true home. Have you ever considered that existence is a dance between everything and nothing? The answer to all your questions-yes, even "Why am I here?"-is simply "I don't know." And that's perfectly fine.
The search for a definitive answer is a mental trap. There's no straight path, no tidy finale to all these thoughts. Every time you think you've found an answer, another question pops up to take its place. It's like one of those playground slides that always dumps you somewhere unexpected. And yet-you enjoy it. Because the journey's beauty lies not in its ending, but in its glorious incompleteness.
The Trap of the Perfect Answer
If you think this reflection is leading you nowhere... you're right. It's guiding you straight to the conclusion that the perfect answer doesn't exist. Or rather-you can't even say that it does exist. It's a shimmering illusion, always luring you forward.
Take the concept of happiness. Every time you think you've reached it, you discover it's just another step on an endless road. And when you realize there's no final destination, you begin to live the journey for what it truly is-just a journey. One that, like the question "Why am I here?", will never hand you a final answer. And that's exactly where its beauty lies.
The Acceptance of the Non-Answer (N-A)
Dear reader, this question about your existence will remain forever open. Don't expect me to give you a neat solution-no one can. The real beauty is in recognizing that the question itself is the journey, an endless motion, a cosmic exploration.
So what will you do with this information? Probably keep asking yourself, "Why am I here?" And if the question feels too big, maybe you'll settle for something simpler, like "What should I have for dinner?" But that's another guide-one I'll never write. Or maybe I will. Just... not today.
Keep walking your path, and remember: every question is just another chance to get a little more lost. And maybe-just maybe-you'll discover that being lost is the most interesting thing of all.