The quest for truth seems a noble endeavor. Generally I want to know more about the world and how it works. Why people do something instead of others? How to live your life to its best potentials? At the same time, I know I will have a short life, limited time, limited resources, and there is no way for me to know the world. At most, I am just experiencing my little world, family, a few friends, and a few colleagues. Still the quest is always on.
What I really want is always a puzzle to me. Now I tend to think that I may never know what I want and who I am really. Desire like dream is a changing thing. I have dreams one after another. Desires come and go. So instead ask what I want, I simply ask what I have and what I want to do with it now. Doing is living.
Still I think humans are strange creatures. We are not just the bodies we have. Instead we are the mixtures of what we are and what we are not. We are both the material of bodies and the fantasies and dreams. We are living in a world of material. At the same time, we are living in our dreams one after another. It is real in different ways. It seems to me like a tiny star in this vast universe with bursts of sparks in the darkness.
Woolf said, “the flower bloomed and faded. the sun rose and sank. the lover loved and went. And what the poets said in rhyme, the young translated into practice.” Llosa said, “No matter how ephemeral it is, a novel is something while despair is nothing.” Stories sometimes are are truer than the real life if we accept that one part of our lives is really about things not real.
Words as a way of communication is even tricky. Maupassant said, “words dazzle and deceive because they are mimed by the face. But black words on a white page are the soul laid bare.” Jack Kerouac said, “One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.” I am writing because I hope not to write. Warm touch and kiss are better than words. So do not say you love me. Spend time with me, talk to me, fight with me, and hug me at the night.