A will to live: A tragedy

I feel tired. It is not your usual day of tiredness that sleep can solve; I am in dire need of rest. I am the type of tired that even breathing feels like work. Chewing food feels like an obligation. I want to be fed like a baby bird. (Kidding—that is disgusting, wink wink.) The type of tiredness that has me wishing I could just photosynthesize. Stretch my arms and legs in the sun. Get food. Energize. And hurray! The rest of the day is merry.

I am rather down, blue, and gloomy these days, but I am much funnier now. I swear I am funny. Don’t you believe me? Even my mere existence and my misfortunes are built for people’s entertainment. People like me lead our lives the way we do so others look at us and thank their God, reconnect with their maker. This is not a brag. I am not saying I am deliberately flexing my misery on you, dear reader—I promise.

When I am sad or bored, I tend to think about things I usually avoid. The will to live is one of these things I find myself contemplating. Do you have the will to live, or are you just trying to live while you wait for your death? I am one of those people who wishes they never existed, and as you might have heard, the desire not to exist is different from wanting to die; it’s simply wishing to never have been. How does one enjoy being alive?

And I don’t mean enjoying being alive for the sake of your mom. You are living to give your parents a better life, repay their kindness, the sacrifices they have made to raise you. Or not being alive for your friends or other loved ones who you think would be heartbroken. Or living for that dream you still haven’t given up on. Or because you are still full of hope that things will eventually get better.

No, I am thinking about enjoying life for the mere reason of being alive, even with its never-ending disappointments and the cruel world’s misfortunes. Do you enjoy being alive? What is so grand and hopeful about this materialistic world?

Viktor Frankl, in his book Man’s Search for Meaning, talks about how most of the Holocaust survivors were those who never gave up on hope—those who wished and believed there would come better days. They survived; good for them. But were I in there, I’m sure I would not have the strength to be this optimistic because what is so precious about living? Why do we humans cling to life this much, as if we are promised something good at the end?

Existential fatigue is more than physical or mental exhaustion—it’s the weariness that stems from grappling with life’s purpose (or lack thereof). It’s waking up every day with the knowledge that nothing has fundamentally changed, yet still trudging forward because that’s what humans do. I am filled with the desire to escape the weight of life’s endless responsibilities. I feel drained by life itself. My belief has its pillars deep in the rejection of inherent meaning in life—a belief where the universe is indifferent, and our existence is accidental and purposeless.

Why do we live? Is it hope? Is it duty? Or is it simply a habit—an innate clinging to life despite knowing it offers no grand reward? I the speaker leave you the reader without answers, only an invitation to reflect on our own will to live in a world that offers no guarantees. Whether we see life as a gift or a burden, perhaps the point isn’t to seek meaning but to find a way to endure, even laugh, through the absurdity of it all. Maybe, just maybe, the act of questioning itself is what keeps us alive.