If there is a glass with only half the amount of water, what will happen? Someone will come and drink it, or it will get poured down the drain, or it will just sit there on the table. If it were to just sit on the table it cannot last forever. Nature will run its course and it will eventually evaporate into the sky and one day change form into rain. That rain will end up in some body of water or within the soil or the street or the sewer. So then, why then all this attention to some insignificant detail that has nothing to do with anything? From this response many deemed me apathetic, but I think it would be more accurate to name me a realist. In reality nothing really matters. It was hard for me to place real importance on anything since the age of seven. I would often question the use of simple tasks, like bed making. Why make your bed every single morning if only to undo it in the evening to sleep? What’s the point? I do not know if this way of thinking is healthy but it made me not put too much thought into my decisions. I just make then rather nonchalantly with the thought in the background that one day I will be gone and no one will no so what’s the point?

This effortless way of existence began to be threatened in March 2009, two months before I turned twenty-five. It was then it somehow clicked and I registered that I would be in this world for a quarter century. For some irrational reason this thought grew into a form of acute anxiety. It was not as though I felt old per say. It was a more I was becoming overwhelmed by the pressure to plan- to sit down and think of what direction my life should take and make steps to make it possible, instead of just floating through life leaving everything up to fate.

Redemption came in unexpected form: The Colbert Report, an American news show which satirizes conservative news pundits in which Colbert plays, in his own words, a “well-intentioned, poorly informed high status idiot.” In one episode he was interviewing Ron Howard director of “Angels and Demons.” Colbert asked him how he felt about the Vatican’s proposed boycott of the film, much like their boycott of “The Da Vinci Code” (which made an $540M international box office, mind you). Howard responded that in Chinese crisis means opportunity. While that is not entirely true, it turned a left on my current situation. So I thought:

What essentially does crisis mean? a chance to make an improvement, a favorable one. And crisis? a critical moment perceived as a problem because it seems dangerous because it will change the normal routine of your daily life.

It is here it dawned on me that my whole turning twenty five dilemma was really just pressure to settle down into a more definite path. But if nothing really matters why all the needless stress? I could not come up with a reasonable answer thus curing my crisis.

I will conclude this enigmatically and unconventional with two untitled pieces of poetry I wrote back in the days when I thought line breaks in journal entries constituted as poetry:

1.
You know.
with the stress of life
CONSTANTLY
weighing on you,
It’s easy to forget
that:
Nothing really matters.

(let us never forget
no thing really matters)

2.
if you ever feel
WEIGHTED DOWN
by the sameness
of E V E R Y T H I N G
consider Harry,
who built a robot
that could eat
to be the first man
to be eaten by a robot.

(he doesn’t exist.
it could be you!)

I decided a long time ago to live off whims. I would engage every passing desire and see where I would end up. Why not? We only live once. Why not gain as many different kinds of experiences that you can instead of doing the same thing day in and day out for your whole adult life only to hibernate in your (statically probable broken) home once becoming a senior citizen?

Moving back to my father’s homeland was likewise a whim, and like all whims reasons follow after the process. I just figured I had to be here if for nothing else than for the change in environments, slowing down my life, and gaining unique life experience. When I grow up I aspire to becoming a writer. Not just any writer. A writer of a classic novel. This profession, in my mind, embodies everything I have been discussing about in this piece: the meaning of life, free will, nobility, and moving forward. My stories will be a backdrop, a sort of bass line, to themes and variations that embody basic human problems and in the end they will resolve into a new discovery, and it will be beautiful.

I once read somewhere that the thing take drives us forward is most of the time unknown to us. It is hidden out there somewhere for us to find. I found a fragment of it! I discovered English! That sounds bizarre, huh? Let me qualify. I have always been interested in words. I have always been interested in the many ways a person can say one thing. Why does he choose saying “I went on a slow walk this sunny afternoon” instead of saying “I gently strolled on this bright afternoon”? Do these word choices even really matter?

Currently I am working as an English teacher to children and adults whose first language is not English. This job enlightened me to the inner workings of the English language. I now think of English in different terms than I used to. Before English was just a natural reaction, much like a reflex, and I just happened to have a big vocabulary (Thank you reading!). But now, I think of what tense I should say something in. I think of syntax. I think of all those rhetorical tools stored about in Poetry for Dummies. I know how to explain word choice. What better youthful job for a future writer to have!

Once I divorced a consortium of illustrious façades when really being an amalgam of things otherwise. Like an abusive husband trying to win back his ex-wife with flattery that is just really nonsense, they highlighted-stressed-emphasized-even heightened the fact that they had tradition. Tradition! They might have well just went to the tip of the highest mountain to echo their plea for the world to hear: “We have the past! THE PAST! We might not have the present, and we don’t know if we have the future, but we have the past! We must be respected and honored because we have the past! Please! Please! How could you not see? We have the PAST! We hold the past so hard that we are tempted to call it the present! Oh, so attractive the past she is! I have everything I need with the past in my hands. My life is complete with you, the past. Oh, were would I be without you? Oh, the past (sigh)…”

What makes tradition so great? Why should a tradition be honored just because it has been long-established? When something has been past down from generation to generation so long that the origin becomes mythicized all motions are meaningless and devoid of reason–an action only for the sake of (some surreptitious) tradition. Some may say tradition is a way to pay respect to the past. I must disagree. Once the meaning is depleted the acts become ill-mannered mockery. If the dead live on, I bet they are shaking their heads in shame. I cannot believe we have not outgrown rituals yet! We can send a man into outer space. We can fly. We can send messages to one another instantaneously on palmed-sized devices. We can manipulate nature. But, but we still have these paganesque rituals!

We need to wake up. I shall resound this warning: The past is now dead and passed the point of no return. The future is too to those whose present is just exercise in experiencing the past yet again. Let us make a pact to not look back but instead to look forward and thusly move forward to a better future. Be like a clock. Time can only move forward. It cannot go back or skip ahead. It just goes on and on and on in a steady pace. We cannot look back. We cannot return to what was but now is not.

I learned this lesson at a young age. I was at a fair. Every suburb, town, county. and village in America celebrates the fall by means of a fair. They have games to play, beer to drink, music to dance to, grilled food to eat, livestock to look at, and prizes to win. When I was seven years old my family went to the Goshen Fair. This is one of the more popular fairs in the state of Connecticut. It was there I received a helium filled balloon. I cannot recall how or why but that is not important. What was important was that I really liked the design on it. I was planning to save it forever. Once it lost all its air, I would fold it up and store it in my dairy. It really was an aesthetically pleasing balloon. However other things at the fair were equally if not more so exciting. In all the enthusiasm I let go of my pretty little helium filled balloon. Time stood still for a moment as I watched it float up up up up and upward into the lapis lazuli sunset. I watched my cherished prize float into the sky never to return. And that is the lesson here: no return.

Life bares no return.

What does it mean to be noble? The dictionary says it is possessing high ideals and excellent moral character. The thesaurus says it is synonymous to honorable, principled, moral, virtuous, decent, upright, gallant, polite, self-sacrificing, magnanimous, virtuous, just…

Self sacrificing. Why must one become a martyr to live decently? Why must so many people take the easy way to success by way of stealing, cheating, lying and so on.

The saddest part of all: once an decadent exploit is exposed his partner in crime and many that are exactly the same as him will find satisfaction in his downfall. Their faces, turning from red to blue, will cry out of the shame bestowed upon whatever he was undertaking.

One of my really good friends once tried to confide the ways of life to me, “You must learn a lesson and once you do you won’t have these moral problems: Nothing in this world is innocent!”

Is it really a loss of innocence or just surfeited politics? This past year I have been so affected by politics it was ridiculous. I am not naïve enough to believe that this world can run without politics, but never have politics affected me so personally. When I lived, studied, worked, and competed in America of course politics were present, but they stayed where they belonged–in the executive division of each organization I belonged too. Never have I seen, heard, or experienced a trickling down of politics into lower tiers. All of this asinine astuteness is enough to put one in a state of trepidation.

As more and more years pass the less and less noble things become for me. And I want so desperately to be noble. To be able to hold my head up high and say I might not have money but at least I respected my fellow man, at least I was principled and proper.

When I started university I lived in a bubble of dreams. I used to believe a career in politics was noble. Can you believe it? I could not even last a year of study in the subject when I switched my major to music. I guess the idea of helping your fellow countrymen, to fight for their freedoms and rights is only noble in theory. When in real life it becomes of game of word manipulation, promises and bribes, saving face, stealing money, and I bet there is a lot more that I do not even know about.

At the age of twenty I questioned everything I did and why and what was the purpose and if anything really even mattered. I even questioned why I ran? Was it some subconscious remedy to physically act out upon a verb that I should be mentally working through? I was not in it for glory. I was not in it for medals. I was not in for prizes. When it came down to it, I was in it because it was noble to me. In my innocent perspective athletics signified everything that was right with the world: people getting together to test and tempt the limits human possibly. What could be more pure in such a tainted world? As I grow older it gets harder and harder to put doping incidences aside. Maybe, it is not as noble as I thought it to be. It is so hard for me to comprehend why. It is just athletics. In the scheme of the things it does not matter. Is it just for a gold medal? Just think about it: it is just a pseudo-gold medallion on a ribbon. You cannot even wear it. You can either throw it away, store it in a box never to be seen again, or, and most vainly you can hang it on the wall, where it can stare down at you and mock this image of greatness. It is pointless. I sometimes wonder who came up with the idea of trophies and medals. It is such an asinine concept.

I will now leave you with an analogy to ponder upon in your free time:
False gods : Catholicism :: medals/trophies : competition.

Back when I was an atheist I always would explain myself by self-importantly decreeing that no free man needs a god. Who needs someone else when you have yourself? It was an attitude I (not so proudly in hindsight) assimilated into my perspective after discovering Nietzsche and subsequently binge reading key texts of the existentialist canon. (All proclamations during this period were of self-importance. I guess the voice of Ecce Homo is contagious.)

I am amazed at the amount of people who believe in free will while at the same time believing in predestination. How could that be so? One either can make his own decisions or he cannot. There is no half way, no pick and choose as you please. Me, well I believe in free will. I believe each and every person is a free and autonomous being who holds the keys to their own future. I do not believe this is an ability or decision which one can choose one way or the other. It is inherent of the human condition.

To me determinism is the easy way out. Why is determinism so easy? When one believes that his fate is already determined and he has no say in the matter he automatically loses responsibility. He returns back to a state of childhood–a perverse form of innocence obscured by obstinate immaturity. Is anything at stake when one willingly betrays the free will endowed to each and every one of us? Does he give it away for some benefit? While seemingly simplifying his life by riding himself of the burden of choice he concedes something much more valuable. In this game of steering clear from accountability he gives up his freedom. Freedom is inconceivable without responsibly. If a person is unable to be in control of his own life it is out of the question to be in control of how his life will affect others. Therefore he does not deserve freedom.

Determinism is a clever invention to justify a miserable existence. How else could we live such a monotonous life without feeling that things were meant to be that this is our place? That where we are is out of our control. The egotists, no doubt, believe in free will–they dare not blame an outside force for their glory. But the poor? What do they think? I lived in a village for eight months. Everyone went to church every Sunday then returned home and resumed their lives living exactly opposite of that as believers. Then again, they still believe. Do they ever stop to think about it? Their parents were believers and what was good enough for their parents is good enough for them. And what is good enough for them is good enough for their children and generations circle while progressing little.

Sometimes I wonder if they are really truly happy, or if they just settled on the life that they were born into? I wonder if they believe they can change whatever they would like about their lives. Everyone is in control of their own destiny. Anyone can get up and change their life when they please. Of course, it is not as easy done as said. It requires hard work and getting out of the house. That is it!

As I am hastily approaching a quarter century of life on this Earth I am aggrieved by an existential crisis irreconcilable to me, illogical to all those who think they understand me, and even more specious to others. Maybe I am just a perfectionist unable to get a grip that this world is not the way I imagined it to be. That everything in this world is process and paperwork. That as you get older things get more and more complicated. That the more and more people you meet the more and more you lose faith in relations of any kind.

When attempting to ideate the purpose to living I am reminded of the 2007 film “Wristcutter’s: A Love Story” directed by Goran Dukić. Taking place in a purgatory for suicide offenders, the protagonist, Zia, is driven to slit his wrists to prove something to his former girlfriend, but after a few months he realized the whole suicide thing just made him miss her and love her more. He did not even prove anything–not even one thing! He befriends Eugene, who “offed” by electrocuting himself on stage by pouring beer into his electric guitar while being booed offstage. The odd thing is Eugene’s whole family ended up here. His mother offed because after moving to America she missed Russia too much. His father offed because he could not bear living without his wife, but really, the last straw was discovering his youngest son was homosexual. Eugene‘s younger brother offed due to an overdose. The viewer never learns the cause of this. I guess it just runs in the family. One thing we do learn is that the younger brother tried to off himself after losing a soccer match as a child. He could not understand how his team lost when they were better. He could not understand what’s the purpose of life if life is so unfair? He threatened hanging himself if Eugene did not give him one good reason. Eugene just slapped him across the face and, somehow, that was enough.

Zia and Eugene set off on a road trip in search of Zia’s girlfriend from life who he heard had recently offed. At the onset of their journey they pick-up a hitchhiker, Mikhal:

Mikhal; I am looking for the PFC.
Eugene: The PFC?
Mikhal: Yeah…you know the people in charge…because I got here by accident.
Eugene: What do you think this is? Some country club where you can just go stroll into the main office?
Zia: Eugene! What? …You don’t like it here?
Mikhal: Are you kidding? Who likes a place where you’re not even allow to smile. It’s hot as balls. Everyone’s an a——.
Eugene: Well tell me, when you were living did you go looking for God?
Mikhal: No, but back then I didn’t have a reason too.

This scene always hits home. Since an early age I always felt life in general was one big accident. But no one does anything about it. Not may people seek out meaning. Most people go on living their lives doing the same exact things day after day with no questions asked. I could never understand those people. I do not think I will ever be able to find contentment. I think I will always be in search for something higher.

For fun, let us just for a moment assume there were such a thing as a spirit living on eternally. What if we all existed before in some another form but we just could not recall? What if I really did end up in this realm by accident instead of some another (better) realm? Would I go out searching for the PFC to explain myself and go back to where I came from? Is my search for something higher evidence that I am here by accident? Or am I just wasting my time on finding a purpose when purpose could just as well be petty inconsequence?

United States President Barack Obama, in his inauguration address, ascribed the current economic crisis to “our collective failure to make hard choices.” Sure, it may be true that Bush’s reign was to decisions as Russian roulette is to life. But to our defense, we were lost. We did not know where to go. We did not know where to turn. So we just sat there and let things happen. We believed we were not at fault because we had no say in the matter. We were silenced. We were small. We did not know. Sounds like communist police interrogations, does it not? We do not know anything but we will name names to save ourselves if need be.

So sure, I am willing to admit the economic crisis is due to OUR failure to decide. But what about the individual? Are we any different? I sat and brooded over our prevarication until it transmuted into my ennui. What is worse, I did not even take notice of this metamorphose when it took place. Then it hit me–there is an inherent problem in decision making. All the late great philosophers debate and lay out logic and reason which paved the way for the scientific revolution. Despite how far theory has come we cannot apply this life. We cannot apply the scientific method to this experiment called the human choice. There is a control–you, but no variables. How could there be? We can only base our decisions upon what we think would be best. Still, really, there is no way of knowing if our choice was the best since we cannot rewind and fast forward our lives as we please. When things go well we will think our choices were correct, but when things go bad, of course, the only culprit could be the previous wrong decision. If we cannot really know what choice is best do choices really matter? Does it make a difference whether one chooses that over this or this over that? Why all this struggle? Besides, what is the basic struggle of man? Is it good verses evil? Is it love? Is it mankind? What is our purpose? Is there even a purpose to life?

Pondering these questions I conclude it all comes down to purpose. Thinking about the purpose of humanity is too big of a concept for a girl at the dawn of merely twenty-five years to tackle, so I reduce it to something more personal. What is my purpose? Before I can attack the question head on I must think of what factors into my purpose. So I think. And I think. And I think a little more. I think one must first ponder the meaning of life. I know that the answer to this question cannot even be agreed upon anonymously by all the metaphysicians, but one must ponder it if nothing else than an exercise in critical thinking. After that one can think of things in a more personal manner. I believe my purpose comes from the choices I make, my faith in living nobly, and moving forward–always moving forward.

Lent comes from the Latin word lentus meaning slow or calm. Prior to Ash Wednesday, I was preparing myself to slow down the pace of my life, to find a calming energy within the universe, to discern my spiritual beliefs from all the childhood indoctrination, to turn inward, to find myself, to…

Hindsight being the 20/20 that it always is, I now realize that I was trying to attain some rudimentary level of enlightenment in forty days. Only 40 days! Buddhist monks spend a lifetime on this, and I was so naïve to believe I could reach it in eight days less than four fortnights. I have always been overambitious (not from narcissism or egotism but a need to escape entering a world I never choose to be a part of, a form of silent late blooming rebellion since I spent my teenage years a timid recluse pouring over books and my second rate run-of-the-mill poetry).

I started out as most observers by giving up something I enjoy and would actually miss–espresso. I drank at least six espresso shots a day. I rationalized this quite simplistically. I figured each time I denied myself the pleasure of an espresso I would reflect upon my list of aforementioned Lenten goals. This did not happen. After the twelve day long caffeine headache subsided my life went on as normal…just without espresso. After two weeks I barely noticed its absence. Maybe I was cheating since in Zagreb the only place to get a decent shot is Elis Café (65 Illica) and that is located all the way across town and unfortunately I have not got the time to frequent that little corner of well balanced bliss.

I did not stop there. I gave up other things– TV and useless internet usage. This was another easy sacrifice in that I do not own a television and my computer is broken. Lastly I decided I would live my life simply. I would only eat natural food (nothing processed, and certainly no junk food) and my only entertainment would be reading, but not just any reading–Hegel’s Theological Writings and Aquinas’ Summa in an attempt of finding my way. Maybe I would be able to reconcile with the religion of my youth and grow into the religion of my new country? The closest I came to reading anything religious was The name of the Rose, and reading that really only helped confirm my belief that religion belong inside a person instead of inside a building.

I was raised Catholic. I retired from Catholicism once entering college (and New York). Then I found myself alternating: from Agnosticism to Athetism, back to Agnosticism, to a brief brush with Buddhism, back to Agnosticism, to Existentialism, to Taoism, to Postmodernism, to Gnosticism. Yes, I did consider past philosophical movements as religions. Yes, I did always somehow find my way back to Agnosticism but that always seemed a better answer for the lost. If one cannot decide the best way is to choose nothing? Where as I now? I don’t know. I am no closer now than I was on Fat Tuesday to finding an answer.

So what did I learn during this time?

I learned you cannot force something that is not meant to be. You cannot just deny yourself and expect life to change. You cannot just can’t. You must just must and wait.