Something in me changed when I got up early one morning while in quarantine. The rest of the family was asleep as I sauntered into the kitchen to make some coffee. While I gazed blankly at the drops of coffee plopping through the glass filter into the ceramic mug below, I began to cry.
“Ah,” I realized through blurry vision, “So this was it all along.” All those months searching for my life purpose (read Part 1: Existentialistic Nihilism), it was staring at me right in the face! Despite my nihilistic outlook towards life for months in college, I still got up early, without fail, every morning looking forward to something. It was the good ol’ morn’ cup of joe. They were those mornings in my college dormitory when the world was still asleep, and sunlight filtered in through the forests outside my window as I slowly got up. I would select some slow jazzy tunes on Spotify, hit ‘play’ and began making my coffee. Everything was silent and peaceful while I waited for it to be ready, appreciating the nutty aroma wafting into my nose. Those moments. They made life worth living.
I think, when I let go of the need to search for a life purpose, or some kind of sign from the universe telling me that these sufferings and sacrifices in life would lead to some kind of nirvana, I began to understand something. Perhaps there really is no greater meaning behind all these. Perhaps there is no one final destination. There is only the here and now, as we live life moment by moment. You could say I lived life aimlessly for the past few months in college with no purpose in mind, yet in that moment as I was living it, I enjoyed it so much. I drank, partied, and fell in love. I worked part- time, crammed for finals two weeks before, and fell so sick that 5kg of body fat disappeared overnight. Those moments in solitude vibing to chill beats in my dorm; those shared moments with friends chortling with joy; those moments of heartbreak filled with doubt and anger. Those drunk moments dancing to 80s rock at the balcony; those warm moments staring up at the night sky full of stars at 2am; those moments of freedom wandering about in town half- drunk after a night of clubbing. This is life.
Those moments (and definitely many more to come) in life may not have led to a place meant for me (as there is really no such thing in the first place), but they are just as worth a life lived with self- ascribed meaning. Perhaps life is a collection of moments. Perhaps there is only us, and the people around us, and the experiences we keep in our hearts.
More importantly, perhaps there is just me and you, alive and breathing and just being, and that is more than enough.