Nothing can ever be ‚real‘ or ‚true‘. Neither can it be ‚false‘. Perspectives offer no limits, but so many exist that such an amount cannot be taken into accurate representation or account. For one person something may be good, their statement seems true to them. Another may say something is bad, which is also true to them. The first person views the second‘s as false, and the second views the first’s as false. Opinion based true or false, real or unreal, will never be accurate unless put to an average, which is almost impossible given the amount of people on our Earth and their circumstances.

“Some birds were never meant to be in cages, never meant to be controlled by another. Eventually, it killed them. Their colour was stripped from their feathers, looking all the same, with broken voices, acting all the same.”

“‘Walk in a straight line.’ ‘Copy this.‘ ‘Always do this, but never this.’ 'If you want to do well you must do this.’ Let the dictators chant on and the mindless fools follow. Let them all turn out the same— stripped of their individuality by force fed influence. I couldn’t care less. Focus on yourself— what you do best. If you can do this simple task, you will go places they have never even dared to imagine, constantly fearing what has been taught right and wrong.”

What is the meaning of life? Does the meaning of life lie in the pursuit of love, faith, or personal achievement? Or is it something entirely unique to each of us?
This widely debated question has intrigued humanity since the dawn of our intelligence. Answers vary depending on individual perspectives and experiences. Some live lavishly while others face immense hardships in both childhood and adulthood. Others live a life not with luxury, yet not with great poverty— a balance. These different starts in life proceed to shape an individual’s answer to our question. The three perspectives form a spectrum to point to the ‘why’s of an individual’s answer. Many believe that the meaning of life is simply to take opportunities, make the right decisions, and live. This could apply to all three points and can come from any person. Others view the meaning of life to plainly be to accept their given life and see which path it decides to lead them down, ultimately trusting in fate. This may tend to apply to those who experience luxury or moderate, ‘middle class’ lives. It can still apply to those of less fortunate backgrounds, though perhaps not as often. They could be searching for comfort in their situation through the belief that fate will guide them positively. A large percentage of people believe they are to constantly achieve, always striving to be at the top. This could originate from having the idea that you must bring honour to your family or to yourself, reaching for recognition. While so many people discover their meaning of life, others simply take no interest— in other words— do not care at all.

Throughout history, religion has always been a significant part of living for many. Religions have influenced humanity for hundreds and thousands of years, causing both conflict and a close form of the idea of peace. It has shaped human morality, influencing our notions of right and wrong, good and evil— yet often intertwined with conflict and bloodshed. Ideas about the meaning of life are often shaped by teachings from holy texts and proverbs, depending on time and individual perspective. A devout believer may perceive the meaning of life to revolve around their god, and express their devotion through spreading the word of their texts. They may believe their god has planned everything, leaving them to rely solely on their faith without altering the course of their life. Not all religious groups are this way, and can have the same or similar answer as any average person would.

While religion often serves as a guide for life’s meaning, love ties us to our humanity on a deeply emotional level. Many pursue it— believing the meaning of life to them is to search for their ‘soulmate’— who they believe they are destined to be with for their life. While some focus on Eros (romantic love), others focus on Philia and Storge (friendship and familial love). Philosophers like Nietzsche suggest that love often comes with suffering, which is undeniably true. Such love—whether Storge, Philia, or Eros—can be one-sided or unreciprocated, leading to inevitable pain. Searching solely for love may be ideal in one’s eyes, despite the inevitable suffering they know they will face. Someone who spends their life loving will often feel anxious, or pressured to be perfect, fearing being left alone. Love, far from being an easily attainable ideal, demands compromise, vulnerability, and mutual effort. It can involve one person only, and these people may focus on self love— looking after themselves. Self love is not selfishness nor narcissism, but the act of setting the tone for how you want to be treated, and how you believe you deserve to be treated. People practice the ways of self love to reduce anxiety, keep a stable mental health, and to focus on having a healthy lifestyle for their body and mind. Many do not pursue love in any of its forms, knowing that it is ultimately conditional, and they may not be drawn towards that.

I, as a young person, do not yet have an extremely clear meaning to my life. Though, if I had to give an answer, I would say my personal meaning to life is to be recognised and strive to be the best. I come from the ’higher middle class’ of the spectrum I earlier spoke of, and have been granted many opportunities in life— that of which I have focused on taking. To me, life is an opportunity to nurture my mind and channel my intelligence into writing. I will utilise both the experiences of hardships and grief to form my writing. Having my emotions and experiences at my disposal provides a way to achieve my life goal of recognition amongst many. Once I complete the goals I have, and which I will set in the future, I myself will be complete. My life will have found its meaning, and I can move towards passing on to the afterlife in peace and satisfaction.

There is not a singular meaning to life— no fixed answer. Rather, it is what a person makes it. The meaning of life is personal, only able to truly be interpreted if on a personal level. No one can ever fully understand another being‘s answer. The meaning of life is simply an interpretation in millions of forms— unique to everyone and everything. In the end, perhaps the question is not universal but deeply personal: not ‘What is the meaning of life?’ but ‘What gives your life meaning?’

“I’m sorry I left but it was for the best, though it never felt right.”
Such words pleaded to be untrue to you.
They would never really leave you.
They’re coming back.
Why would they leave?
They wouldn’t.
You’re sure of it.
You just have to wait, and they’ll come back soon enough.

But then—
how could they leave you alone just like that?
Betray your trust?
You feel your blood seethe under your skin,
your chest tightening.
Burning.
After all you gave, all those moments shared—
wasted, as if they meant nothing.
Vile.
You told yourself they never cared,
bitterly weaving lies to shield your fragile heart,
fending off the grief with barbed fences of hate and resentment.

Oh, what you’d give for a second chance.
Anything.
Everything.
Memories replay in your mind,
flicking through every word you ever spoke to them,
thinking of what you could have said differently.
Surely, if you had acted differently,
they’d still be here with you.
Just like always.

You don’t want to move.
You don’t want to eat.
You don’t want to sleep.
Or really, you can’t.
An empty hole in your chest is left behind,
taking the space your heart once filled.
How could you be angry?
If they were struggling so much,
why couldn’t you just have helped them?
Maybe then they wouldn’t be gone.
A rope you never held suddenly slipped from your grasp.
Unable to climb to the surface,
you drown in a pool of self-hatred,
every bludgeoning, deprecating thought attacking you
with relentless, mindless force.
A piece of your soul,
ripped from your body.
The beast in your throat begins to claw,
but the tears in your eyes don’t dare to escape,
even though freedom waits on the other side.

Your candle is still lit.
A strange realization when you’d sworn you’d blown it out.
You hold your hands over it, seeking solace in its warm yet burning touch,
softly pricking your skin.
Even when you blow the candle out,
you can always light it again,
even if it’s not the same flame.
It will always bring you light,
even if it’s not the same kind.

And when the candle runs out,
you’ll still have a jar of memories—
small flickers sitting quietly at the back of your mind.
They may not feel important,
but each flame shapes your soul,
a warmth that never fades entirely.
You keep going,
not because you forget,
but because their light becomes a part of you.
A light that will never go out,
even when the flame is gone.

”Oppressed by controlled by my feelings, I strive to escape them. Yet, if I succeeded I would not be as human as I yearn to be. Doing so, I would reduce myself to what others would call a villain, not a person who is trying to tear away the binds of life and set themselves free.”

Дать второй шанс — это как дать кому-то второй пуль, потому что они не смогли убить тебя первым выстрелом —
Я научился этому тяжёлым путём.
То, что ты когда-то дал, стало тем, что тебя сломало.
Говорят, что соль похожа на сахар —
Мало ли я знал, что пословицы созданы по какой-то причине и не существовали бы без этой причины,
некоторые, как я, просто достаточно неудачливы, чтобы попробовать соль.
Даже один раз — это слишком много.
Ты никогда не забудешь тот ужасный укус на языке,
как горло становится сухим и напряжённым,
всю ту воду, которую ты пьёшь, пытаясь отменить последствия —
но всё равно остаёшься сидеть там с жгучим языком и сухим горлом,
сожалея о своих выборах, как всегда.
Зачем ты это сделал?
Ты должен был проверить этот «сахар».
Зачем ты отдал эту пулю?
Ты должен был знать, что они хотят увидеть кровь, которую они так и не успели рассмотреть после неудачного выстрела.
И они скажут что-то вроде: «Всё в порядке, потому что красный цвет значит, что я тебя люблю».
И ты простишь.
Снова.
Снова.
Снова и снова.

Со временем у тебя возникнут вопросы, почему ты остаёшься.
Из отчаяния?
Или из любви?
От чувства вины?
Паранойи?
Но прежде чем ты примешь решение уйти,
они уйдут первыми.
Несмотря на тот сложный план, который ты уже выстроил,
зная, что ты уйдёшь —
быть оставленным первым больнее, чем ты ожидал.
Так внезапно, что шок ломает тебя сильнее, чем осознание, что они не любят тебя,
зная, что ты больше не являешься всем тем, чем они когда-то тебя называли,
отчуждённый от слов, за которые ты так долго держался, чтобы убедить себя остаться.

Время пройдет.
Некоторые дни ты забываешь —
некоторые дни всё, что ты можешь делать, это помнить.
Чувство уже не такое разрушительное,
но это не помогает факту, что оно есть,
и оно всегда будет.