Life’s not fair. It never has been. At some point, everybody is going to fade away into nothingness. Maybe your kids or someone else might visit your remains lying with all your sadness, anger, and hatred 6 feet under but that has an end too. What I’m saying maybe sounds too negative but think about it. No one is passing to the other side without any regrets. No one passes away with all positive emotions within them. Maybe some but not all people. Maybe death is just the beginning and it means all our struggles die, not our souls.
This is just some sick test to see who can endure this world longer. And there are even more struggles added to make us suffer more? Diseases killing millions of people, some dying of hunger whilst others are living like kings?
And money. Cause of all evil. Makes everyone’s trust have borders. As Bill Gates said, “When you have money in hand, only you forget who are you. But when you do not have any money in your hand, the whole world forgets who you are. It’s life.”
“If you don’t find a way to make money while you sleep, you will work until you die.” That’s what my father did. I am not sad though. Even on his deathbed, he said he was happy to leave because he suffered too much. And I agree with him. He worked himself to death and now it is my turn. Another piece in the worst chain ever. I am now driving through NewYork city, to my father’s funeral. Noticing people on the streets. Maybe deserving more than me, maybe not. I wonder a lot why life has chosen me to be a rich family’s child. Why did my father work himself to death building this “empire”? Why am I next?
I sometimes wonder about other people. Maybe for growing very insulated, that is. I may not be forgotten because of all the money I hold in my hands, but what happens to people who are forgotten? Do they just vanish with no chance to be remembered?
Or what happens when you hold money in your hands? What happens when you are not forgotten? Is ıt really important to you anymore? Do you care? Do you remember yourself? Do you forget yourself?
Do we even matter? Does anything matter? I remember asking these questions a lot. I’m not a person who likes to go out, so I had all the time in the world to think about it. I couldn’t find an answer, however. Actually, I think I gave up when people I asked stopped even acknowledging me.
But I may reach the answers I’m looking for very soon,
I thought as I was blinded by the headlights of the truck that was about to hit me.