What does it all mean? What is the purpose of life? Why are we here? What did come first – the chicken or the egg?
I just need a fucking answer! Come on, there has to be one. One had to come first! I truly believe someone has the answer, but refuses to let me know just so that they can see me live in agony. Hopefully, my agony is giving that person a purpose in life.
How can people sit through a philosophy class without taking breaks every 10 minutes to massage their brains from the confusion that is philosophy? And while those students struggle to grasp theoretical concepts in class, I struggle with my own existential crises. They are, in no particular order:
1.The “Hold Up, Are We Both Looking at the Same Color?” Theory
Do we all see the same color? Is my red the same red that Tina Fey sees? We’re all taught the colors of the rainbow in kindergarten, but all we’re learning is word association with the color a teacher points to. So, if I see what we all think is the color “red” and the kid next to me sees what we all think “blue” is, but the teacher says it’s “green” HOW WOULD WE EVER KNOW?! I just want to know if I’m living a lie.
2. The “My Twin is Chilling Somewhere in the Universe and Could be a Lot Cooler Than I” Theory
There has to be someone who looks just like me out there roaming around. She doesn’t have to be from earth or the Milky Way. I could even be offending her just by assuming she’s a female. In whatever planet or galaxy she is from, they might not even have gender distinctions. What if the planet she’s from is exactly like earth and she’s leading the same exact life I am? Or what if we are the same person, but she’s me in like 30 years and knows exactly what’s going to happen next in my life? What is she’s Zenon, Girl of the 21st Century? Fuck, I need to go outside and get air. Fuck, what if she doesn’t breath air? Fuck, I’m making assumptions again.
3. The “Wait, You’ve Been Meaning to Tell Me I Don’t Sing Like Lea Michele This Whole Time?” Theory
Okay, so we all know what we sound like in our heads. Yet whenever we hear a recording of ourselves talking, we cringe with disgust and ask questions such as: “Why does my voice sound so deep?” or “Do I tend to squawk like a dying pigeon all the time?” Why is that? There’s probably some scientific reason for this, but for now it’s a crisis. The MAJOR crisis here is that we know what people sound like, but we will NEVER know what they sound like to themselves in their heads. From what I know, we don’t have a device that lets us implant ourselves into someone’s subconscious that would enable us to hear his or her little inner voice. But if we do, it won’t be until long after I’m gone. I know, morbid. But maybe my Zenon twin, wherever she may be out there in the universe, will live in the time where this invention comes to fruition.
For now I can only lie awake at night pondering these theories. Or I can ask incessantly douchey questions about our existence to my poor friends and family, to whom I apologize in advance. I leave you with a simple question to ask yourselves: what is the meaning of life? Boom.