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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/981298
Rated: 13+ · Book · Personal · #2217241
My blog, welcome.
#981298 added April 17, 2020 at 3:25am
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The Fragile Existence of Humans
Nihilism:
(Noun)
Meaning extreme skepticism; maintaining that nothing in the world has a real existence.

My memory is quite hazy, but my best friend and I had a conversation a few weeks ago about life after death. She asked if I would rather be remembered or forgotten and afterwards, it turned into a debate. My answer to the sudden and interesting question: I would rather be remembered. She however, would feel much more comfortable being forgotten.

To her, being remembered meant having people speak of your good and bad deeds and if it was bad, having no one to defend you. She would have no control over what was said, therefor, being remembered sounded more like a misery than a comfort.

And to a certain extent, I agree. Not to mention it would just be easier if you didn’t want or care what people said of you after your demise. After a while your name will no longer be spoken anyway; just a blip in a family tree to be discovered by a school project and then thrown away.

But despite our fleeting mortality, I hate the thought of being forgotten because if no one will remember, what was the point of my existence? If I was not important enough to be thought of years after my death, why was I forced to live upon this earth? Do not mistake this for not wanting to live, it is rather wondering why. This is where my belief of nihilism comes into play; where the thought of life is looked at at being meaningless.

Yet, it also brings up another point and difference of belief. I am a Christian, or I try to be anyway. I imagine I fail that description on a regular basis but that is a topic for another time. If God put us here, and we are made from Him, and by extension his Son, then there must be some point, right? I can’t imagine God being as cruel to make his children live an existence that was useless after their stay was expired.

But what do I know? I’m just a teenager.

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/981298