Realisation

As the days passed, we grew closer. At first, it felt exhilarating—a connection unlike any I had experienced before. But as time wore on, I began to realize that we were drawing too close, dangerously close. The walls I had meticulously built around myself, the barriers meant to shield me from vulnerability, had crumbled without me even noticing.

Dependence crept in slowly, unnoticed at first but undeniable with each passing moment. The person I had once been—a disciplined, focused individual—seemed to slip further and further away from my grasp. A gnawing sensation took hold of my mind. I couldn't shake the feeling of weakness that coiled around my thoughts like a relentless serpent.

"I am weak. I am weak. I can't do anything."

Desperate to reclaim some semblance of control, I turned to my studies, hoping that knowledge would be my salvation. Perhaps education would grant me the confidence, experience, and clarity I craved. If I immersed myself in learning, maybe I could piece together a stronger version of myself.

But even there, I found no solace. My mind raced with relentless questions that only deepened my discontent.

"Why do we study these books? They teach us nothing of true significance in life."

"Why must we endure school to shape our future?"

"Why? Why? Why?"

The questions multiplied like shadows in my mind. The stories of historical figures, the abstract concepts of mathematics—all of it felt detached from my day-to-day existence. I was investing my time and effort for a mere piece of paper—a degree that would supposedly determine my status, value, and future in society.

"But why should I chase after it? Money?"

Money, after all, is just another piece of paper, crafted by people like us. Couldn't I simply create my own? Or perhaps I could abandon society altogether, retreat to the wilderness, and live as our ancestors once did—free and untamed. I imagined building a shelter by a tranquil jungle lake, where fish would provide sustenance, a nearby stream would offer fresh water, and animal skins would become my clothes. People had survived like that for centuries. Why couldn't I?

From there, my thoughts spiraled deeper into existential musings.

"Is God real? And if so, what kind of God is He? All-powerful? All-knowing? Kind?"

I pondered why humanity seemed so fragile compared to other creatures. Why do we lack the physical prowess of wild beasts? Why do we not possess supernatural abilities?

When life feels unbearably frustrating, we often find ourselves asking:

"Why was I born into this life?"

This question, I realized, carried an unsettling implication—that perhaps we had existed before we were born into this world. If we can question our circumstances as though we had a choice in the matter, does that not suggest some kind of preexistence?

Humankind has always credited God for the mysteries we cannot unravel. But does that not make us gods ourselves? If we attribute events we don't understand to divine intervention, then we unknowingly declare ourselves all-knowing, for we have created the very concept of God to fill the gaps in our understanding.

And yet, for all our limitations, we are profoundly compassionate. We have made weapons that can kill the livings. We cry over fictional characters, we empathize with strangers, we unite in times of crisis. It is this kindness—this fierce, unrelenting capacity for care—that has carried humanity through millennia of hardship and struggle.

We are, at our core, creatures of profound kindness. And maybe that, more than anything else, is what makes us extraordinary.

--All knowing-All powerful-kind--

--A GOD--

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