Phase 01: Germination

I wonder if everything is this dark at the beginning of the universe, which is seemingly built by an unseen, super-vigorous entity. It makes me wonder about the building process itself. Is the universe made of dust, which rotates and is dense enough to form a tiny nebula? Or gases and atomic matter that vibrated and exploded by itself? Or is it simply made of rocks that adhere to one another and then spin and spin to establish the nature by itself, like magic?

I wonder if a mother’s womb is this quiet and soundless, beyond solitude that is almost senseless. By any chance, how could we depict which is what and what is which? How do you taste breath when the body seems not to contain a respiratory system? To be dead is not a good aim, but living amidst nothingness is genuine torture.

But no, we cannot go insane because, since the very beginning, no one has had sanity here. We are as bizarre as a cat trying to fly or a butterfly trying to growl. We endeavor to attain a valid identity. Hands stretch as far as they can go; voice howls dying to be heard; the mind wanders a thousand miles—trying to smell the scent of gaiety.

Because, once more, we are merely hollow entities born in nothingness, striving to reach an open air of valid identity.

Phase 02: Seedlings 

I wonder how turtles feel when they emerge themselves out of the sturdiness of their carapace and conquer the outer world? If the first thing they see is light, do they feel hurt and immediately decide that the outer world is painful and torturing, hence shutting themselves back into the shell? Or do they feel safe and sound instead?

The same query goes to butterflies, who discharge from their cocoon and start spreading their wings as they sniff the free air, and then the very next minute they start to ramble the sky with the most celestial gestures.

How to describe this? Revival. The awareness to be alive. To scratch and tear down the nihility. Regurgitate the nauseated feelings of darkness, loneliness, insanity, and surrealism, the typical aftertaste of nothingness. Trying to be healed by the luminous power, because purity does not get along with toxicity.

By the end of the day, paranoia is always there. We are still not yet capable of swimming; what if there’s only an ocean outside? We don’t have any ability to fly by now; what if the real world is apparently landless and hollow as far as we could see? 

But by being born, we are left with two choices: to live or not to live. The feeling of breaking the rules often goes side by side with the suicidal tendency, they are just similarly indescribable, so waste the time no more.

Then the separatist movement began. The shell is no longer here, only a threshold with a golden-lining passage that leads towards jumping or falling, walking or swimming, awakening or dreaming.

Phase 03: Maturity

When the most valuable thing is reversed into something phantasmagorical and dimensionally indefinable, brokenheartedness is not enough to interpret the disappointment. The new gate is open, overtures and probabilities hanging in the sky, as riped as the Apple of Knowledge, the one that exiles Adam and Eve away from the sanctuary of Eden.

But presumption will forever be left as presumption after all. Liberty and independence, those are Gestalt theories. I learned that if you don’t have wings to reach the stars, you have to build the ladders yourself (assume that this is the 19th century, when Charles Dickens was once alive and believed ladders, not interspace rockets, could bring you to another star in the solar system).

So here we gather all the wood and titanium plates to concatenate objectives and circumstances. Hence bid another pathway to reach maturity, to be effloresced by numerous bloods, tears, and farewells, because every single achievement comes with sacrifice.

How does it feel to have everything that seems to last forever? That’s the taste of adolescence, apparently. To deal with nothingness is torture, to hatch from the egg is a great struggle, but encountering the true world in a seemingly another dimension is a whole different story.

Since the very beginning, we are born vulnerable, in the land of menaces and hazards. If plying the skin with armor is not a first-aid action, we would be broken even before we were able to wander a single path. That, I think, is a simple concept of survival.

Apparently, from that very simple way, it could bloom into something more advantageous. Caterpillar to adult butterfly, tadpole to toad, bipinnaria to sea star. Be it a circle or a polygonal web, every step of the cycle is worth more than diamonds and pearls. Guess what, the long journey that we were riding was apparently not just to derive a name and validity.

Thereupon, to waste oneself on behalf of aim only instead of journey is a suicidal attempt. We could get more, I assure. 

Phase 04: Old Age and Death 

I wonder if it would be anything like this if the universe were fading away. Speaking about colors is nonsense because, although fingers try to spot the blue and red, we are fingerless, and although we try to recall in our minds the names left, we are mindless.

Realizing that eternity is only a humbug and it applies to every single thing in the entire universe. Hence, if it is a glory that you want to keep, may your soul will forever be a phantom. Because the main objective of our existence mainly converges upon a peak of glory, an artificial kind of glory.

Everything is going to be over in the end. We are lost souls waiting for the light to come. A convict praying for the wounds to heal. An occupant wishes the landlord to depart. We don’t want to know, don’t want to hear, and don’t want to encounter reality.

Who we want to be and what we want to do, it does not matter any longer. We don’t talk about insanity anymore because we are mature enough to realize that sanity is a myth. Thus, we don’t try to fit in because every dissolved body will no longer have any meaning.

It is saddening, I understand. We are crawling out of the darkness just to throw ourselves into another funeral as time grinds with no mercy. Love, talent, and misery are merely jewelry of a royal quest. Since the very beginning, we have nothing. Hence, with nothing we will leave.

But if we have to leave, let it be a divine leave.

For the next questions spurt by another mind, try other ways to crawl upon their own glory before fading away.