I’m up at 5 in the morning. I sit with my curtains open, looking at the street below. I take out my journal and write the following entry:
One thing that I’ve come to understand is that we can never understand anything. Is this a good thing? Perhaps not. But can I find beauty in this fact? I must, for if it’s not beautiful, it’s not worth knowing.
We will never understand most things about life. Death is the obvious one. We can draw as many conclusions and make up as many theories about it as we want, but no one understands what happens after our last breath.
Love is another. I have been in love, felt its warmth and it inevitable chill when it all comes to an end. I still feel love when I probably shouldn’t. Does this mean that I’ll know love the next time it comes? That I’ll be able to prevent it from breaking me again? Of course not. How ridiculous is that idea?
We think we understand ourselves until we do something completely unexpected. We think we know our own minds until our thoughts betray us. We don’t even know the reason that we walk on this earth.
We don’t remember things from our pasts, we don’t understand things in our present and we can never predict out futures.
Why do some people achieve all of their dreams while others die unhappy? Why do some people live until 100 while others don’t even live past their birth? Why do we feel pain? Why do we feel joy? Why do we feel hope only to feel disappointment?
“Why?” is a question that we ask throughout our entire lives. We rarely get a straightforward answer yet we continue to look for one that we can accept.
I call bullshit on this. We know nothing that is of importance to us. But isn’t that beautiful? Doesn’t that make our time here all the more precious? We keep placing one foot in front of the other in spite of all this. We are beautiful creatures, full of love, hate and irony. And to me, that is the most thrilling, beautiful fact of all.
Listen to my interview with blogger Ciara O’Doherty below:
Read a diary entry about my dream apartment here.