I consider myself quite knowledgeable for my years, and over the past decade or so—it is probably even longer than that—there is a question which has puzzled me immensely, and no matter how much I ponder it, or in which way I attempt to see it, I simply cannot seem to figure it out: Why is being female the greatest of shames?

For my own part I have never wished to be anything else than female, and fact is that even if I were given one million dollars for being genetically altered to become male, I would pass the opportunity up, for I have never desired to be anything else than what I am. The reason for this is that I have always been female, I was made one; ever since the moment of conception, when I came into being for the first time, my twenty-third chromosomes have been homologous. Why this is a fate worth regretting a lifetime, I shall never understand.

Once upon a time—and in some places still—women were sacred creatures because they were the ones who gave birth to new life; they were the ones who illustrated the purpose of all human existence, both biologically as well as symbolically: the smiling sun upon the heavens is a goddess in many religions and Westerners still refer to their world as “Mother Earth”. For millennia the fertile female form has been celebrated, and its essence has been captured by skilled artists of ages past, some of their creations spared from the teeth of time for us to see.

Venus de Milo

Venus de Milo

But those figurines—whose beauty is easily appreciated—stem from ages now long lost. As man left his hunter-gatherer days to cultivate the land his life changed forever, the greatest change of them all however yet to come. But eventually, it did arrive, and the man of today is now the resident of an increasingly post-industrial world, a world in which being female is the greatest of shames.

All ages have their Venuses. The hunter-gatherers had their figurines, such as the Venus of Willendorf, whose true purpose still is disputed—was she a depiction of a goddess, a charm of fertility, or was she simply a piece of art celebrating the beauty of the feminine? The agriculturalists had the true Venuses—the ones who gave their name to the morning star—and the Venus de Milo is still admired by millions every year. The industrialists too have ideal female beauties, but they are no longer celebrated in the same way.

No, the Venuses of industrialisation are raised to feel ashamed over having been cursed already at conception, they are taught that having homologous twenty-third chromosomes is being of lesser worth; the woman of today knows that she is inferior to any man. At least, this is the sole explanation I have come up with in regards to the question I mentioned before: Why is being female the greatest of shames?

In the industrial world the ideal woman is the one who pursues a career; for some reason she has ceased to value herself and instead elevated men to the skies. A modern woman shall not be content until she is identical to a man, and I am terribly sorry for being the one who brings her the news; but this, her ultimate goal, shall never be. She will never grow a beard and speak with a low tone of voice by natural means, for she is a woman—she should take pride in that!

Why Should They Do It?

Why Should They Do It?

Were women an obsolete a part of humanity they would all have been male, but considering how I am no man, there must be a reason for why there are women and why there are men. Fact is that they have different roles to fill, both equally important, despite not being the same. To say such a thing, as I just said, is however forbidden—and very strangely so. Again, I say, this can stem from no reason other than women refusing to acknowledge that they are equal to men.

The world is not fair, if it was, there would be neither males nor females, they would all be the same; both would be equipped with ovaries as well as testes—but such an egalitarian society I highly doubt I will ever see! To make up for this unfair a truth, nature is however most compassionate and makes sure that a foetus during gestation is exposed to hormones that eventually shall make it content with its lot. At least, this has worked in the case of me—I am a delighted female, I desire nothing more, but as far as the rest of humanity is concerned, I simply do not know.

Somewhere, deep inside, even the most female-despising of women must realise that she is seeking revenge for her fate in the wrong way, however so convinced of her own inferiority that she disregards from this and presses on in the pursuit of a goal she believes herself desiring to attain. And, when confronted with something that makes her uncomfortable, she charges and goes to attack instead of pondering its contents. To all such women I have one thing to say: An empty cart makes much noise, a full cart less so.

However, even broken clocks are right twice a day, and the situation of women has indeed improved. No longer need any woman die from complications in childbirth, and she is allowed to vote and to make her voice heard. No longer is a woman kept from making a career, she is allowed to seek the intellectual challenges which all human beings crave. This, I cannot critique—I have no reason to. What I do critique is that women believe themselves being of lesser worth. They are not, why do they even believe so?

There is no need for me to state facts—no-one will listen—but I tell you this—and you may consider it and draw your own conclusions—but ever since women started to doubt their value the world has started to shake. When the people who mattered most to the future of man have abandoned the most glorious of tasks, the consequences can be nothing but severe. All it takes is an open mind and a pair of eyes—look around!—is this world of ours a society that thrives? Something has gone wrong in this most modern age of man, and it is only because some people doubt themselves. I hate to point the finger—so I shall not do so—for those who are responsible know deep within who they are.

The celebrated modern woman is no longer a feminine beauty, she is an aspiring male. How has this come to be? What is it that makes women believe that they are worthless do they not live the life of a man? Shall the world ever come to acknowledge the simple fact that life is not fair, but that one’s lot still is better than none? It is with the greatest of regrets that I say that this I do not know; I know many things but the answer to these questions are still shrouded in mystery to me. One day, however, I intend to change this; one day, I shall know and make sure to tell you, for I believe that being female is just as fine a fate as being male.

Be proud of who you are, do not attempt to change! Take pride in being yourself, for people who know their worth and value have nothing to prove.

Finally, I shall say that man is a creature who learns from his own mistakes; a fact which delights me as the more educated man becomes the more ignorant shall he realise himself to be. And when his ignorance has been realised, there will no longer be any need for the goddesses to be ashamed.


When Sweet Turns Bitter

January 10, 2009

Too commonly it has been said that time is what heals even the most vicious of wounds and this truth has by now become a comforting cliché; the reassurance that all miseries eventually shall come to pass the hope which inspires people to look forward and not remain static in a painful present. The validity of this notion I can verify in regards to both the experiences of myself and others, though I find it important to stress that all pains worth the mention are bound to in some way have left scars.

“The course of life never turns out as expected,” my mother has told me ever since the youngest years of my infancy in an attempt to make certain that her daughter, Miss Josephine, never is to travel farther than she can see down the road. Though I have despised those words since the fist time I heard them, I am certain that my mother’s mention of them served a purpose; reminding me of never submitting to the extravagancies conjured by a youthful mind yet untamed by the wisdom brought on by experience.

The wisest of men are those who have realised that there are no certainties in life; that nothing may ever be taken for granted. To do so is to disregard from doubt and to submit to the convincing allures of folly; to become one of the fools who doth think that they are wise. It is a fallacy which most fear, but which most commit never the less. To my own disappointment, I have realised that neither I am excused for having carried out such an act as my most recent experiences have cemented this new knowledge in my mind.

For the past year there is a certain word which has brought much felicity to my days, a word which I have carefully introduced into every conversation where it rightfully could be mentioned. The word carried great importance to me and I would not lie to you if I say that I indeed were very much in love with speaking the word. To me it was a word of great symbolism and importance; it brought substance into a life so devoid of meaning and possibility for improvement that indolence took the place of motivation in a character once praised for its ambition.

For the past week this word of verbal sweetness—this word of my affections—has grown sour and it now leaves a bitter stain upon my tongue as I attempt to recover from the pains caused by a unforeseen blow to my view of self. To doubt doubt and to be convinced of convictions has proved poison to what was once so very dear to me. The word itself has not been altered—so it can in no way be blamed—but my perception of its sound—once so clear and bright!—has changed and it will never again be spoken by me with the smile of delight.

“How can such deep affections so suddenly be replaced with contempt and disregard?” I hear you ask, and indeed your curiosity shall be satisfied, for I have not authored this incoherent collection of words with the intent to keep you, my dear reader, in the dark. You shall see that the answer to your question—so rightfully asked—is to be found during study of the person affectionate; the object of love seldom to be blamed for a lover’s change of heart.

Cambridge has a noble ring to its name; it speaks of ambition and tradition to my ears; two sentiments which I value and celebrate, and I would have considered it an honour to be chosen to be part of its long history, but such a future was never to be mine. I no longer mention Cambridge when I speak, it has been confined to become a subject of my own reproach; the sweet word has turned bitter and harsh for it is no longer a symbol of opportunity, but one of personal failure and futures to never be known.

Soon I have for two decades been alive and am I fortunate a fifth of my life has already passed me by. One would consider the prime of my youth long gone, but its folly seems reluctant to bide me adieu; we have accompanied each other for too many years to ever be completely apart; were I not foolish in my convictions I would not be who I am; the question being whether a wiser me would be to prefer? Is doubt in conviction what I need to revive?

In retrospect even the most ambiguous of enigmas wear their answers on their sleeves; readily seen as well as read—why did I not consider to look while they were in my view? Alas! That is the way in which folly is defined; as blindness affecting one’s perception of the most obvious; folly being the symptom of complication, of shrouding and concealing what was left out in the open for everyone to see! This realisation is soon to be followed by revitalised reproach: Why was consideration never considered? Why did conviction appear so compelling, so very convincing? Why—oh, why?—was the unclouded clarity of certainty concealed to me?

Had I doubted more—and not been so very convinced—success might very well have been mine. Had I been less convinced—and had I been a person in doubt—my future might have been another! Had I not been as overly confident in myself as I were I would have doubted my abilities, knowledge and talents more. Had I doubted myself I would have questioned what I knew and been motivated to heal the flaws which most apparently were present in my person. Had I doubted and healed myself of conviction’s ignorance my premature honour and pride would perhaps then have been rightfully mine?

Indeed, I committed the fallacy which humanity seems unable to abandon; the inability to realise its own limits. Man is not an omnipotent creature; he does not have the ability to predict the future; all his attempts to do so will eventually be proven wrong. My mistake—I beg you to learn from mine and man’s mistakes—was that I reaped my harvest before my fields had been ploughed. I were so certain of my success that I celebrated it before celebrations were due and failure was all that I left for myself to find.

Perhaps my mother was right when she mused to me that life never takes the course which one expects or wishes it to follow, no matter how much I despised those her words. Had I been more attentive perhaps my fate would have been another; had I convinced my mind to contain a fair amount of doubt I might not have attempted to fly on wings premature. Though I am a fifth of a century old I have barely lived at all and experience cannot easily be considered mine. It is through my folly that I grow to become more than the sum of my parts, it is through the blows of disappointment that I learn the lessons of life.

For, indeed, my dear mother was right: life is fickle and its course is never set in stone. The faintest whisper is enough to steer it off course as life is nothing but a ship sailing in the dark. Wisdom of the past is the only light which serves as a guide, but in a world of unlimited possibilities one is at times all too easily lured to follow the sparkle of fool’s gold.

No longer may Cambridge be the intellectual port where I head, but however knowing that my folly and I are alone to blame I have been given an opportunity to learn from my mistakes—I have been given yet another valuable lesson by life—and I may be more of a person now than I were before sweet turned bitter in my mouth. This pain will no doubt leave a scar, but the initial sting has now faded and it will soon only throb during the darkest hours of my days.

I may never fully forgive myself for having allowed the opportunity of a lifetime to pass me by, but I have learnt that the wisest course of action is to be a fool and doubt one’s wisdom; as even the wisest also are fools.

I fear for the future of humanity.

Despite the utopian dreams which I hold for our species’ future, I have started to doubt. The crystal-clear images which I previously have beheld in the imaginative parts of my mind – of people accomplishing the most wonderful of things, of achieving what previously was thought of as impossible – have faded and their outlines have been blurred.

I have realised that the future of humanity is far more distant now, than ever before. The reason for this being so is simple, and for those who have understood, it is more obvious than anything else.

Over the course of just a few decades humanity has quite successfully undermined the accomplishments of centuries and millenia, all in the belief of a vain opinion, being held as true.

To tell you of what this belief’s nature is, I fear, as it has become taboo to claim that it is false. I have however realised the importance of it being told, and so I will strive against the opinion of others, and speak up regarding my own. For too long have my views dwelled in the depths of suppression, and now the day has come to mention them for the first time.

Before you condemn this opinion of mine, which now is to follow, please read it all through and then speak ill of it. For I believe that once the argument has been finished, the truth is clear.

For years – I believe since the second world war – people have told each other that all are special and truly valuable. Children have grown up to know themselves special and unmeasureable in worth. This opinion is delightful in its nature, and admireable in its aims and ambitions – to urge the young to grow up and do good. Somewhere along the way, however, this idea ceased to be inspirational and instead grown darker than the darkness of night. Today, the belief of that everyone is special has poisoned the world and disillusioned its inhabitants.

Belief in oneself is no longer a – in my eyes – desireable trait. For, it does nothing else but to blind the person who believes. Everyone is said to deserve equal benefits, and though admireable, such a notion has done nothing but harm. Further, when all deserve, then it really is so that the logical conclusion is that none deserves in the end.

Allow me to elaborate. The belief which has poisoned the young mind of today is this: “I am – therefore am I special“. It is indeed so that humanity has travelled far since the original quote was coined, but little have we evolved since. Rather, we have de-volved; grown to become less valuable than we once were. For truly, the words: “I think – therefore I am“, are much more noble and prone to inspire than previously mentioned ones.

The problem with the modern world is thateveryone is special, and since they all are, then no one is so in the end. The belief in one’s supremacy is as dangerous as is the indivdual’s submission to the allure of that a society, a race, a species is of greater worth than the rest of the world and its inhabitants.

There is no longer such a thing as manners, the polite person is dead – shot through the heart by the arrows supremacy has created. For today, each and every one is his own master and the opinions of others matter little, or even less. To tell someone that they are wrong, that their belief is in vain, is the modern world’s greatest of sins. To follow one’s convictions has become the most priced of personal traits, but to what cost? Truly, it is at the expense of the rest of the world.

For when an argument no longer can be carries out in peace, because on, or both, of the arguing parties are blind to all beliefs but their own, then the peak of sophistication and evolution has truly been left in the past.

The world, society, and the human mind have ceased to evolve. The fire of man’s passions and desire to advance, has faded and turned to ashes, become debris easily carried away upon the powerful wings of conviction’s strength. No longer is man striving to attain the unreachable, no longer is he interested in becoming more than the sum of his parts.

No, for the man of today, and his species alongside with him, they know themselves to be special, a belief untouchable by others. Man knows himself to be more than anyone else, and as he beliefs his value is greater than the rest of the world’s, then, does he really have prove his worth? The answer is no – of course – for he already knows himself to be special, a belief which does not have to be explained.

Truly, advancements have been left in the past. For long gone are the ages when man doubted himself and his nature, and spent more time pondering than being convinced. Man is an ambiguous creature, and the more he doubts himself, the more does he go one to accomplish.

When man knows himself to be wrong, and while seeking the approval of others, he creates. He thinks, therefore he is. This – this – is the belief, the belief in that one is not special, that inspires the realisation of dreams. For, as man is not perfect, he is not special, if he strives, then maybe, he can become more.

This is what has helped man evolve this far, but now, in the age of convictiona and belief, man has ceased to grow, he has stagnated and now he is little more than simply himself. The desire to become more has been suffocated, it has been looked down upon, been claimed to be nothing but a dangerous belief.

I am glad that I belong to one of the few who are in doubt. For, while I try to become more than the sum of my parts, I can accomplish the greatest of things.

I fear the future of humanity because man has ceased to doubt and instead grown convinced and I equally fear for the future of humanity because modern man believes himself unable to ever falter or be wrong.

This argument of mine is however not new, but I fear it has grown to be little known, and that the world may benefit greatly to once again see it before its eyes. Though some damage never can be undone, perhaps a few can re-think their supremacy and join the ranks of those accomplished people, those whose strength lies in doubt.

The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.
– William Shakespeare, “As You Like It”, Act 5 scene 1

Overthrowing Darkness

June 17, 2008

This evening I set out on a midnight walk. In the midst of the shift between dusk and dawn I realized something. My realization was not concerning the nature of the night-less summer nights of my country as much as it concerned the lack of darkness that all city- or suburban-dwelling people have grown accostumed to.

In our modern world, the 21st century, the world of today, tomorrow’s yesterday; there is no such thing as darkness of night. Half of a 24-hour day hay has been stripped of its characteristics, the day’s nemesis has been robbed of its suffocating cloak. Through the assassination of the daylight’s opposite even the most natural of cycles has grown uniform.

There is no longer such a thing as darkness of night. Electric fires have chased it away forever. The lone night’s unlit hours have been abolished from the civilised world, but at which cost?

Nature is an equilibrium and it will always be. If the darkness of night has been chased away, then it must take its refuge elsewhere. Somewhere in this world there must be a safe haven for the darkness. And indeed there is. As people chased darkness off the surface of the globe it ceazed to be visible. Instead it moved into our cities, and it lurks in the narrow alleys between tall buildings. Too deep for the electric fires to illuminate them.

It is however not the shadows that have become the new home of darkness’. No, it is more gruesome than that. Darkness has found its way into the human heart. There, it bides it time ’till the night arrives when its black nature will reign once more.

Through the abolishment of darkness the celestial guardians are no longer needed. The deities that people have turned to for millenia have been brushed off as unnecessary and too ancient for modern civilisation. The modern human believes she is fit enough to care for herself. How vain is she in this conviction? She is too confident and she will one night have to face the darkness from within her own kind. Then she will be far from the helpful reach of the guardians of the skies. It is ironic, how man only can be saved by the protectors whom he has chased away.

Throughout the ages the starry skies have protected the earth. They have been diamonds of the skies. Though unable for us to reach they have been equally valuable to us during history as diamonds are today. They are the miniature lanterns of worlds far away. They are holes in the heavens’ black velvet draperies, small beams of light that see us from afar.

The unimaginably large is for us to very small. The stars of diamond heavens have been our parents, the ones to whom we owe our lives. We are the children of stars, far more magnificent, yet not. They are hard for us to imagine, yet without them, we would never have been born.

Throughout our childhood they have protected us, illuminated the shadows and chased off the dark creatures of our own imaginations. They have been the candles in the dark that chased the mosters under our beds away.

In modern times the celestial guardians are no longer present and the electrical fires which man has created are burning with more strength than ever before. Man has grown, left his infancy. He is now the unruly teenager who rejects the words of parents who only mean well.

Our electric gadgets and artificial lights will not offer us any protection as darkness is planning its coupe. It will soon strike, its dark tasks aided by traitors from within our own lines – the children who follow the path of darkness, all because they were never blessed by the stars.

It Is All Worship

January 24, 2008

A documentary was presented before me yesterday evening by the channel that had been left on, after the previous show had ended. It was a documentary about fashion models – the models, the modelling profession and the life both on and back stage.

I am the kind of person, that have I started to watch a show or a movie (or read a book), I have to finish watching/reading. Even if the plot fails to engage me, I have to know in what way the story ends or I will be consumed by Mind’s theories of how the story was finished. I have way too many more important things to consider, so I figure it is better to spend an hour or two watching, perhaps finding something in the production hilarious, than to listen to Mind for the rest of the day.

Back on topic…

As I watched the documentary, containing interviews with people having been labeled “super models,” interviews with people involved in the business, the life of the models etc. etc., I was struck by the similarity between the worship of super models and ancient times’ heroes (and even further back in time, deities).

In the modern world of today, the deities and heroes of the past, are since long gone. All the major religions and beliefs are based upon holy people who have not wandered the world for quite some time.

Christianity has its God, his son and the people who play their roles in the Holy Book. Judaism has the same characters in their holy scriptures, but without the son. The same accounts for Islam.

In the non-monotheistic religions, the same things are true. Buddhism is based upon the teachings of the Buddha, before his passing, and the deities of Hinduism lived many centuries ago.

It is the same for all religions – they are based upon the actions of people and deities which have not been seen for a very long time. No wonder that the modern man is in need of people of less spiritual, and more real and obtainable, qualities.

The modern heroes and, I dare say it, deities, are people who have become someone – super models, but also, musicians and actors and the like. These are people who are a little more down to earth, and people who most others can relate to. They are separate from the world either by their appearance or their talents, but they are still people who wander the streets of the world. The belief of that one one day may come across them during a daily adventure, means a lot and provides strength to the worship of them.

People are in desperate need of someone who can guide them, someone for them to worship. The religions of the world may be the most important for some, but when they are lacking real people, people who one can connect with take their place.

I see no other reason for why people whose lives have been exposed are offered the kind of worship which they actually enjoy on a daily basis. They become the role models of the youth, the become the object of the young’s desires.

People have a need for worship. And as long as they are happy, they may continue. I simply find it fascinating in which ways the human mind and form work. In the end, however, it is all worship.

Late evenings are best spent with a cup of steaming hot tea, a fruit or some bread, while curled up in a comfortable sofa. The hair left undone, wild as it was meant to be. Comfortable clothes which one only dare to wear at home and late at night, when no one is around.

Late evenings like these spur many thoughts. I am not one of a dying breed, I am one of a breed that during recent years has grown in numbers, lured more people to join. The breed has been looked upon, joked about, seen as being of a lesser value. Ill fit in society, having escaped to where they can not be judged.

Late at night, when all lights are out, their faces are still lit. The dim blue from a screen is reflected in their eyes. Their faces are always motionless, though they however may feature a swift smile or a single tear.

The people who this description fits, are people who are just like I. They are people who have not dared to enter the real world, they fear losing control. They know what the late evenings provide, they know nothing of the gifts of the world, for they have yet to discover them.

During the day people like I sit and sigh. They are gloomy, the dim blue of a screen has rid their faces of all their colors. Eyes half open, every breath a challenge. What they long for the most the day can not provide. It is when darkness falls that they are truly alive.

They take little time to come home, having completed the daily chores. They rid themselves of all memories of the day, the clothes go into the laundry, the hair is undone. A pair of slippers cover their feet, the steaming cup of tea is always nearby.

A pale hand is stretched out far, reaching for the piece of technology which brings meaning into their lives. A remote control, stylish colorful and black. A finger brushes up toward the first button and the dim screen is lit yet again. The blue light which is reflected by their faces is the only contact they ever have with anything. The faces smiling from beyound the screen is the only volountary contact they have with people during the day.

Emotionally drained, or scared of pouring their soul into something, they stare blankly into the air, their eyes seeing things swirling past on a screen lit from behind. The only way people like this can ever feel and experience, is through the actions of others, the emotions people of plastic have been payed to perform.

When tragic stories are presented before them, they may cry and rid themselves of the feelings they have bottled up inside. When romantic stories are dancing before their eyes, they sit and sigh, wondering why such wonderful feelings, such magical experiences never are theirs to adore.

Blind are these people, those to whom I belong, who believe that they never will soar, having been too scared to ever take off and see if they can fly. Saddening it also is for these people, who disappear while being in front of screen. They withdraw from the world, convinced that their only friends, their only allies in life, are those who never have been born.

It can be argued forever if it is wrong for people to adore others who never have been true, people whose faces belong to others, who are real, but who in turn does not know that their audience exists.

Some may say that these people are fed with lies, stories which never have been true. But these people have understood something others have not – the importance of being able to dream.

The dream, the idea, of one day being a special someone, like the ones being romanticized on screen, is what keeps these people alive.

As one of these people – as one of a dreaming, non-dying breed, still being one with the ability to reason and argue – I say that this breed should be let be. For, one day, they will all walk down a street and bump into a person who upon looking them into the eyes knows that they have found their special someone who they will share the rest of their life with.

Upon having seen eternity in someone else’s eyes, the plastic people of the dim blue light, the people who are not themselves, will no longer appeal to the breed to which I belong. For, what they have dreamed of during late evenings with steaming cups of tea, is now theirs, now and forever more.

As of late I have found myself considering philosophical questions to the extent that they no longer are philosophical in nature, but rather essential, all in order for me to remain sane. In a time of doubt – of one’s expections on life, on one’s choices of paths to follow – these questions are more important than ever before.

It is often it occurs that a question or a thought is caught in a loop in the brain’s complicated biochemical circutery. The same phrase is repeated over and over again, presented for one’s cognitive and study-essential abilities time after another. Sometimes one is able to free oneself from the sticky grip of the question which at first seemed rather harmless. But then there are the times where this thought’s adhesive is more persistent than ever before and the only way of escaping its grip is to confront it.

Has the essence of being human evolved over time? This question has been crawling around inside my head. It has scrathed my frontal lobe, it has conquered the gap between my hemispheres, it has snuck between my cortex’s grey matter and the underlying white. The question has parasited on, me has given me no time to rest. For, every time I have closed my eyes, tried to escape the demands I face, it has been there.
What does it mean to be human? Has the essence of it evolved over time?

It does not take one long to realize that a choice one has made never was the right one. Of this, I have become painfully aware, all as my college studies have advanced. When the joy of waking up in the morning is no more, when every breath seems worthless to take, that is when one knows that a choice has been made and altered life in a way it was never supposed to.

The feeling of despair is ancient. For ages it has told man that he is in danger, that something has to be done about it. The feeling of anxiety is a body’s own alarm. It tells us when something is wrong. Depair and anxiety are feelings one would be better off without, and that is why they motivate us to rid ourselves of what it i that troubles us.

In past times the feeling of anxiety must of course have been present – if not, it would logically not exist. Every element of the human body – from the largest structure to the smallest feeling – has been crafted my millions of years worth of evolution to ensure that the human race would be sturdy in any battle it would ever encounter.

It is possible that the anxiety of ancient times was simple in its nature, I am however no expert in the field. An unpleasant, but hard to define, feeling of worry is located just below the rim of the ribcage, accentuated when the little creature which is the source of anxiety moves – triggered by bodily, emotional and external stimuli. It is a little creature in my eyes, Anxiety, thought I know better. But a feeling which is so alive as anxiety has to be more than just neurotransmitters between two neurons in the abdomen. When it comes to the human body I am sure that it is more than just the sum of its parts.

By definition anxiety is “distress or uneasiness of mind caused by fear of danger or misfortune.” Of course this feeling must have been present during ancient times. There were many dangers which surrounded the mere act of being alive and breathing:

“Will the sickness the other tribes have suffered reach ours?”
“Will the resources of the upcoming summer be sufficent to sustain us yet another winter?”
“Will the children grow old enough to give rise to a new generation?”

Anxiety is however not a constructive feeling per se. During short periods of time it may be constructive in its effects of being a motivational force. The human body is however fragile (not to external injury) but to what it is capable of doing to itself. Prolonged expoure to anxiety hurts the body, being deconstructive to the structures which make up the organism. If anxiety was designed to fulfil such a purpose, then I personally doubt it would ever have been incorporated into human nuture throught the course of evolution. For, the skills humanity have aquired are all supposed to help and motivate her, push her forward to face new frontiers. These skills were not designed to be the shovel with which she slowly undermines herself.

In the modern society, among all the sparkling inventions and shining symbols of luxury and abundance, anxiety is a dirty host which grins and sneers when it has dug its teeth far into its next victim. Why Anxiety glee? Because it knows it will not let go of the human sould easily. For years it will tains it, paint it black with its promises of misfortune. All in the name of destruction, which irt so well represents.

Of this I have been aware for some time now. Ever since I made a terrible choice a few months ago which has come to affect my every day ever since. In April (which seems to be so far away now) I chose not to pursue my life’s dream, but to settle for something easier and more simple – something which would help me aquire the point of my whole existance earlier. It was a decision which was not wholly flawed, but close to being so. This choice of mine has haunted me since the late days of August.

Since then, I have been pondering the essential questions of life.

“What is the point of being alive?”
“What am I supposed to do with my life?”
“Who am I?”

For years, my whole life to be exact, I have been sure of who I am, who I was supposed to become. I still know what I would like to become the most, who I am deep inside. It is just that there are some obstacles which have to be conquered before then, some problems which have to be solved. I have based my whole life upon something I am not sure of, nor the reason for me being so convinced.

Had I only stopped and asked myself who I truly were, perhaps then the true me would have answered – truthfully. One question I already have answered. The answer I keep close to my heart. I yhope for that the answer will give me energy to move on, that the reassurance of having one of life’s questions answered would help me subdue the hungry beast of anxiety. That this is true, I already know. It is the only star upon the pitch black heavens of my life.

The other questions are what nurture Anxiety. Every time I release the cognitive firewalls my body has created to presrve my sanity for a later day I nurture the beast which is curled up just below my ribcage. I imagine it being similar in appearance to a porcupine, raising its spikes in delight from having been nurtured yet again. It grows larger and larger, more and more fierce. It rolls around inside me, it tastes what my insides are like in flavour. (I imagine my taste is as dull as my spirits, something whoch brings me some joy, knowing that Anxiety will not be dining on delicacies.)

The questions which Anxiety draw their energy from are the ones to which I have no answers.
“What am I supposed to do with my life – should I do what brings me joy or what brings me the aids of fulfilling my goals?”
“Should I continue walking the path I have chosen to follow, even if half a year upon it has brought me nothing but despair?”

The most sentient question I should ask myself in this context is why I even ask myself all these questions. I already know the answer to them. And by definition, knowing the answer to something is the opposite of having an unanswered question.

So, what is it which makes me suffer from anxiety? What is it inside me which nurtures the little beast inside me, whom I have come to know as Anxiety?

To these questions I already have the answers. It is the fear of losing control of my life which brings me all this sorrow. I know what I have but I do not know what I may recieve later on. The wise part of me, the part which has survived the great darkness of Anxiety, tells me that I should gamble for once ion my life. For, the one who never bets will never win. The reasonable part of me, which is less subdues by Anxiety, then counters with telling me that gambling is a situation aimed in only one dierction – loss and eventually depair (which is another name of Anxiety’s). In gambling the gambler never wlaks off with the pot of gold. An outcome like that was never the point of gambling, thus it is also knows as hazard games.

So, here I am, stuck inbetween two absolutes. The reasonable and the wise one. I can not side with either one for they are both equally large parts of me. Without either of them, I ould simply not be me.

Can questions give rise to answers? Can one question give rise to more than one answer? Has the initial question I asked myself been answered yet? Are there questions which never will be answered?

No question will ever be answered fully, something will always be left unsaid, unthought of, unanswered. Questions give rise to answers, that is their nature, their sole point of existance. The inital question will never be fully answered, but part of it has been illuminated.

Has the essence of being human evolved over time?
My current state of mind says that it has. As well as that it has not.

Not, in a sense of that anxiety is part of the human creation. The “distress or uneasiness of mind caused by fear of danger or misfortune” in part of human nature. As a part of it, it can never be removed. Thus, the essence of being human has not changed over the millions of years it has been exposed to change, all because the human being is more than the sum of its parts – which is the essence.

Then again, what is the point of being alive? Is it not to give rise to a new generation of people who eventually will come to ponder the point of being alive? In my eyes it is. In the world mankind has found itself in today so many essentials of life have been impeded by constructions which will serve no purpose the day we are gone. Because of such insights, the only sentient conclusion is that life is too short to not enjoy. For, in a hundred years, no one will care whether or not I came to terms with myself. In a hundred years, it will not matter. For, by that time, I will have given rise to people who ponder the same question I struggle with for the time being.

Already knowing the answer to my problems, though I do not wish to admit it to myself, one may wonder what I am doing with my life. For a person who is not me, I must appear to be self-desructive – insisting upon doing things I could not care less about and which bring me grief.

In a perfect world, there would be no such thing as anxiety. In a perfect world I would follow the directions my heart has written down for me. If I only chose to disregard ffrom the torn parts of myself. If only I chose to see what plan my heart has laid out for me to follow.

For really, it does not matter whether or not the essence of being human has changed over time. What matters is what is for the moment and the best way to treasure it.

(If advice from others is easier to listen to than one’s own, then listen to someone who offers advice. Following one’s heart is the wisest point of action. To do things which bring one no joy is pointless. By the time one’s life has come to end, one will only regret what one never did. Like following one’s heart and not having lead the perfect life, but the life which made one happy. For, all human beings, all people, are wonderful creations who deserve to die with a smile of success upon their lips as the graduate from life.)