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.

Absolutely 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.