all this may not be real. sometimes all this doesn’t feel real. i was always living a funny kind of life. like how can this be serious. i was always like, “Man! i am living life! the same life as all those great persons like Buddha, Hitler, Nietzsche lived. the same life as every other big and small person has lived in all the history.” and i used to be overwhelmed by this thought. i was like, “man! i can’t dare waste it”. but instead of pressure it always made me laugh at my life, it always brought me into jolly mood. like, “wow, that’s too much. so this is same life as those biggies lived? what if i waste it?”
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What kind of pressures you have?
This is why I am going nowhere in life. I have either convinced myself that this isn’t real, or if it is real, it just doesn’t feel important to me like some reason. I will probably be like the typical human, I will waste my life, and then on the day that I am dying, I will suddenly regret that I never did anything with it. But the person I am today just doesn’t seem to care. I don’t care about success. I don’t care about doing something that gets my name written in a book or makes other people remember me. Who ever decided that was something important? Why does it matter if other lumps of flesh called humans remember you? Why does it matter if your name, some arrangement of letters, is printed with ink on paper in some book or record somewhere. Seems like the ultimate ego desire people have, to somehow keep existing after their death. Either in some record of history, or in other people’s memories.
People don’t even remember me now while I’m alive! I don’t care if anyone remembers me after death.