Jul 23, 2025

There are times I genuinely enjoy life. And that’s the thing—time. Ever since I accepted the hegemony of time over us, nearly all the concepts I once thought I understood have started to lose their meaning. And since accepting that meaning is a product of human consciousness, this act of giving meaning has become an inseparable part of my character.

I believe our transition into action, driven by time’s pressure, is what forms the necessity of life itself. Until death—that motionless, objectless state—catches up with us, I feel like we’re trapped within the awareness of perception.

In the end, it’s all about pleasure. To take pleasure is to desire—it's the thing we want. But whatever action we take, there's always a fading, a cooling-off, as if it never truly ends. Even writing starts to feel joyless. But is it because I think of it as a duty? Or is it because I’m not doing the right thing?

Is pleasure even under our control? Time keeps pushing us into different circumstances. And when those situations require us to act, can we really control how we choose to present our perceptions and sense of morality? Speaking, writing, thinking… Who can truly repeat someone else’s exact words? Isn't pleasure actually the result of those impatient responses we give after quickly interpreting what the moment gives us?

Time doesn’t grant us this moment—it throws us beyond the limits of perception. But perhaps the point isn’t to fully grasp perception, but to keep the motion going. Like watching a film for the first time, or having that very first conversation with someone. These things have always given me joy, and I’ve always felt a hunger to experience more of them.

But why is it always the first—why the new?
Is time a phenomenon that erases depth?

Let’s say you’ve visited ten countries. Wouldn’t the feelings and memories from the first one eventually become shallow in comparison? That’s why I rewatch movies I’ve seen years ago. You remember them and think, “Yeah, that was great.” But if someone asked you why, you’d probably give a rushed answer—just to keep the conversation going. That’s what bothers me. So we either rewatch, or we say “It made me feel something” without really being honest about why we remember it.

We can’t shut off our impact on reality. We’re going to be influenced. We’re going to change. Time keeps pushing us forward.

That’s why anything new will always give me pleasure. Long-term friendships and relationships are things I’ve always admired—envied, even. I have some too, but I try not to question them, out of fear of losing them. It’s a kind of immoral act, really. It has a purpose—there’s expectation, a desire for gain. But still, while I can, I want to keep going. As long as there are people I can talk to… as long as there are films I can rewatch, books I can reread. We turn all of it into routine, in the end.

So is this what I’m supposed to take from the existence of time? That endless, repeating routines are actually proof of what gives us pleasure? If humanity exists through time, is time itself the thing that endlessly produces consciousness and traps it in repetition? What difference does it make?

Pleasure is the continuity of action—just going where it takes you.

But the opposite is true as well. I believe no feeling can exist without its opposite. If suffering is the opposite of pleasure, then a single moment of suffering can leave an unforgettable mark, what we call trauma. But if one suffers every day, can it still be called suffering? That’s why torture mutates, changes form, and persists in our lives. If they pulled your tooth, next time they pull your nail. If you lost your money, then your home. If you lost your country, then your life.

If routine is the repetition of things that bring us joy, then loss is what disrupts that flow and creates pain. Pain shouldn't just be submission to the old—it should be the very thing that prevents something new from being born.

At the root of it all is time—both in suffering and in pleasure. Suffering becomes what we flee, pleasure what we seek. Maybe that’s why pleasure exists. Yet even though repetition might bring pleasure, the ever-changing nature of human beings eventually makes that pleasure feel dull. Maybe that’s why wars, conflicts, arguments, collisions, and even acts of sabotage arise—to stir up the feeling of excitement.

After all, wouldn’t repeating the same feeling become boring too?

Actually, no—it wouldn’t be boring. I think that sometimes. When you fully commit to the act itself, you’re fooling time in the most beautiful way. If you’re listening, then listen with all your intensity. Try to focus on every note, every sound. If you’re working, then forget the fatigue and dive into the details. The details—that’s what matters. Never forget the details. Not for the sake of remembering later, but simply to live them. If you're speaking, then speak without even knowing what you’re saying.

I’m already smiling just thinking about this. A physical reaction is perhaps the clearest form of satisfaction we can give ourselves.

Do we choose our words when we speak? I don’t think we do. No one can repeat their own sentence exactly the same way twice. A person can express the same thought in a thousand different ways—without even realizing it—depending on the time, the setting, the mood. So maybe we should just let go. Let it carry us wherever it goes.

Time is something I can’t seem to set aside. But maybe I don’t need to shrink it down to memory, to fit it into something. Maybe I just need to let it go. Am I leaning toward pleasure? Toward suffering? Who knows?

But perhaps the point isn’t to define my perception…
It’s to carry it as far as it will go—
To live the moment with all its details—
To die in that very moment.