Too short for an essay so here we go.

Martinus Rørbye

Music for today: Secret Life of the Sea (Ibiza 2013 Piano Bar Music)

The meaning of life, to me, is, ah, where do I start? What do I know? The meaning of life is, listening to a piece of music that I just stumbled upon, and really liked; what else could it be? My life, yours, ours; life, oh what is it? It's so vague, so ambiguous it could be anything, give it a name. What do you have then, understanding or explanation?

I don't know what the meaning of life is, but the meaning of my life is simple. Why are you here? Probably it's not the same reason as I. Why am I here? To just be here, and I guess that's all. That's it, I'm here because where else can I be? I'm here, in a library, simply exist. I don't think life needs us to give it a meaning. Why don't we just live? Why do you need a reason to not kill yourself?

Now I think we want to know what the meaning of life is, especially when death suddenly becomes an option, a temptation I could say. Yes, I get it, you don't want to live anymore, or no, may be you still, that's why you are looking for it, we all so, at some point, yes, it, the reason, the meaning, the mindset we try to create to protect ourselves from, what you say, our own tendency of self-destruction. 

This is not me. I don't have a me. What is this thing that calls itself "me"? Who the fuck is "me"? What makes me "me"? I'm not writing, oh no, there's no such thing as "I". What the fuck is happening? Who's listening to the music? Who's doing the typing? And who's shouting from the sky that no one can hear but, me? Me? I? Who? Who??

The meaning of my life is to be here, notice and recognize the shape of the present, stay in it. Stay in it. Stay in it until it's gone. And then I'll be gone with it.