Well?

Eleven years ago, I had a thought. Why? Why do I live my life the way I do? Why do I think? Why do I care? Does anything really matter? Last night, I found my answer behind the shining stars, far away from those too careless to notice, too busy to bother. Too caught up in the ‘real world’ to ask. Why?

It was a typical Friday night. Rain hammering against the windows, kowhai bashing against the worn weather board. I was at my boyfriend's house, ’celebrating the success’ of the past week.

“So….how was your week?” I asked, my voice unnaturally high.

“Great. I got good marks on my English essay.” he said, avoiding my eyes.

“What? Another excellence?” I questioned mockingly.

“Ummm...so how was your week?”

“Boring. I kept thinking about life’s purpose, and why we live the way we do.”

“Does there have to be a reason?” He questioned.

It all went downhill from there.

“But there’s always a reason! You know when….” I started, regretting the words as they left my mouth, “....you’re young, and you ask your mum why she’s in charge, and she says, 'Just because’. But you know there’s a reason. It’s like that.” My voice was raised, my temper unleashed.

“There doesn't always have to be a reason!” He insisted. “Why can’t you just accept it and move on….”

“Because without a reason, how can I make a fitting goal? How....” I started, staring him in the eye.

“Because we’ve been sucked into a world which benefits few, and crushes many. You can’t change it! You must accept it and move on with your life. No matter how terrible that life may be.”

“You don’t understand!” I said, fists clenched.

I jumped off the couch and headed towards the door. I could see the regret glistening in his eyes. With anger boiling inside me, I decided to retreat to the peace of the beach.

Along the beach the sand was soft from the tide. Paua shells littered the shore, their colours glistening in the moonlight. A gust of wind urged me to turn my head to the red flowers of the pohutukawa, bleeding into the air.

How foolish he was. Life? No meaning?

In many myths, legends, religions and beliefs, we tell stories of our world being created by creatures of conscious. We, creatures of conscious are constantly searching for a meaning. So why would another fellow creature of conscious sentence us to a lifetime of searching? Searching for meaning. Searching for purpose.

But I feel as though I have found truth in his words. If life doesn't come with a meaning, we must create one. Whether that be peace, or beauty, or to explore our world, and those beyond. Life is what we make of it. While we may not know who created life, or why, I figure that this life is ours, to do with, whatever we wish.

Eleven years ago I had a thought. Why? Now I know. Just because.