A Contemplation of Human Condition
by Charles Yu
A question only becomes a question
when pondered by a curious person.
What is the purpose of being?
How can I flourish as a human being?
I’m baffled because to both of them
I cannot give an answer.
Because of a flower
I know the fragrance is lingering.
Because of the summer
I know the ocean to dive in
Is not lost, and more importantly,
The wistful winter is looming.
But because of my existence,
I know nothing.
Isn’t existence dreadful when
Being dislocated in the matrix of space and time,
Piling up bricks and pretending them to be art, or
Trying to forget the person who
Declares the end of my summer,
Leaves me without a valediction, and
Reappears out of nowhere because she
Misses me but we solely share the
Companionship not limited to forms, the
Exchange of language we no longer know, the
Spectacle we no longer see through
Each other’s psyche when there is a
Stranger in mirror whom nobody else
Can recognise as we make it exclusive.
To whom I will be
Is a question of teleology.
To be someone or
Not to be someone
Is a choice of my will
if I truly believe in Sartre.
Isn’t existence like the breeze,
The drizzle, the blossom in
A clear spring of full bloom when
Cleansing, stilling and quieting the
Storm into a reflection of voyage to
The lighthouse to guide, to shine, to
Contemplate the human condition?
I strive, I fight, and I struggle.
I live, so things can be experienced.
I create, so senses could be made.
I, too, have existed.