Jul 28, 2025

How can a person truly exist without questioning? Without ever asking, Who am I? Why am I alive?
When I reread my writings, I see that I have more questions than answers. I still don’t know how to live.
The absurdity of life pushes my subconscious to seek meaning. Without human consciousness, meaning cannot exist—and I accept that meaning itself is a product of imagined reality.

Unlike some who grow up and claim to have found answers, I feel more like someone swept away by life, whose answers have been left behind.
Yet strangely, I still don’t feel alone. Though physically alone, I meet others in another dimension—trying to answer questions as if they belong to them, even though they are my own.

People say, I feel like I’m a hundred years old. (I think most say it not truly believing it, using age as a vague sign of maturity.)
But I feel more like a child of seven whose questions have never been answered:

What is friendship? What is death? What is life?
Why do sunny days awaken certain emotions?
Why do I laugh at this?
Why do I love that person?
Why does this hurt me?
Why do I think so much?...

For me, curiosity is a condition of life we can never escape.
Those who lose it pretend to have grown up—but in my eyes, they are already dead.
Especially in an age where information spreads with such reckless speed, to say I can’t focus and stop being curious is death itself.

I call it a condition, because we must find something to occupy ourselves with until we die.
Otherwise, what’s the point? Sleep, wake, eat, drink—what difference does it make?
Without consciousness, we wouldn’t have made it this far.

Rich or poor, hungry or full, criminal or innocent—whatever one’s moral or physical structure, is there anyone who has never asked,
Why am I still alive? Why am I with these people?

Who wouldn’t ask such questions?

Even if the capitalist system tries to give us goals and motivate us to achieve them,
How can anyone truly know why they are alive?

No matter one’s social class, health, or background, if a person is conscious, then they must, in some form, know themselves.
And again, I believe that after a certain age, everyone is the same age.
We’ve simply let ourselves get caught in the flow of meeting basic needs.
We’ve gotten used to living as if we’ll never die.
Whether in war or peace, the living don’t know how to live as if they’ll die.
But living as if we’ll die every day places us in a state of endless curiosity.

Curiosity breeds creation. Like dishes never tasted or people never met.
It makes you say, Ah, I wish I had asked this too.
Forgetting that hunger for curiosity turns people into so-called “wise ones.”
But what a grand foolishness that really is.
True greatness is knowing how to be a child.
True wisdom is accepting that we know nothing.

Everything exists by its opposite.
Without “everything,” there can be no “nothing.”

Letting time count our years and letting our experience deceive us is our greatest obstacle.
Saying I’ve become who I am; I can’t change or learn anymore—
Instead of offering our own experience as universal advice,
When will we begin to focus on our own growth while learning from others?

We’ve come to the end.
The only thing we can stack on top of each other until death is our character.
Everyone should create their own phenomenon and morality, so that this chain of experiences becomes a kind of time illusion—without labeling them good or bad.

Let my thoughts not seem dark.
If no one becomes themselves, how can we become “us”?

We must not lose our sense of inquiry.
Relationships, society—they evolve with curiosity.
But I hear people retreating to their private spaces,
ready to spend a lifetime with just their pets or their spouses.

I see castles being built—
I see that everyone is trapped in the fear of what’s called “oversharing,” and they’re afraid to be open or honest anymore.

We should be like glass, playing with open cards.
Whatever is not honest is immoral.
Morality cannot exist without self-awareness.
Isn’t this what sports, art, and philosophy have shown us for years?

To express what’s inside through art,
To turn emotions into competition in sports,
To dare ask the unaskable in philosophy?

Now, to get angry, to be sad, to distrust—it’s seen as inhuman.
To rejoice or be happy has become an obsessive, insincere performance.
Our emotions have become inhuman—rigid, cliché, and biased.

Spaces where we can harmlessly collide ideas have shrunk.
Everyone’s eyes are open, watching each other.
I complain about all this.

Now, it’s the material that’s questioned—not ideas.

But we should share our thoughts and challenge each other.
Instead, we lock ourselves in a world of absurd comparisons—
Which movie is better? Which athlete is best? Which sport is superior? What food is tastier?

Meanwhile, we’re losing the real questions:
How should we compete better? How should we live better?

No—I don’t believe we’ve lost them.
Everyone still asks these questions.
But we can’t share them.

We’ve come to live in a world where nothing matters to me is the motto.
That’s a lie!
Can someone be human if they don’t care, don’t think, don’t ask?

Secrecy will destroy us.
But it all seems to stem from overpopulation.
Maybe that’s why those so-called secret organizations exist—to start wars and reduce us.
I don’t know. I’m just saying.

Instead of always putting ourselves forward, we should live fully in each moment—and die in that moment.
If we change every second, isn’t that proof that we’re being born and dying at the same time?

Would it be so bad to become a child again?

Living like an adult is the greatest deception of life.
Time spoils us, and we forget we were once children.
Questioning isn’t for humans—it’s for children.
Adults are people whose death has already occurred.