I exist

His eyes stared out the black and white newspaper. There is an intensity to it which made the full-sized image of his eyes on the front page all the more alluring. It screamed of victory, but the underlying and by far, more important message his eyes meant to deliver was “I exist”.

We scream to be heard, to be known and to tell the world we exist. It is not our purpose in life, definitely, for when we die that purpose would be rendered redundant. When we die, there is just no point for our conscious self to be remembered for. Furthermore, out of billions that have lived, only a handful will be remembered for generations, making this “purpose” a rather unattainable one. It is more of an instinct or character which is bred into our human nature because of the circumstances we grew up in, our environment, our situation. One reason could be that the more people there are in the world, the less attention one feels one gets as some people get a lot more attention than others; the Gandhis, the Napolean Bonapartes. As the village grows, a villager would want to stand out and tell the other villagers “I exist!” by being the comic, being the great hunter, being the talented bard, being someone significant. Globalisation became a global phenomenon and people realise the world is actually enormous with so many people. They start accomplishing feats. I want to conquer the world, make my name known. Let me be known as a brave man. I want to be the first to do this. Let me be famous, let the world know who I am. Suddenly we feel so small and insignificant, we feel like our existence might amount to nothing as compared to the universe… Our immediate surrounding is no longer our families. It is the world. In a chronicle, Aristotle was said to once describe to Alexander the Great the vast expanse of Asia and the extent of the Persian Empire. Asia is so big and exciting and so alluring upon learning about that Alexander set his eyes to conquer it. The rest is history. That feeling of smallness makes us want to be bigger.

Mitch Albom explained a reason why people flock to funerals in his book” 7 people you meet in Heaven”. It is that feeling to be remembered. We go to funerals in the hope that others would go to ours upon our demise. This other human behavior, altruistic behavior, is based on survival instincts. The best way to survive is to cooperate. To cooperate, one has to do their part and in turn hope the other would do the same. Common altruistic behavior includes, I go to your wedding, remember to come to mine. I celebrate this, remember to celebrate mine. I lend you money, you owe me one when I need it. Thus in this way, we go to funerals hoping others would repay you by going to ours. It is our natural tendency to want to be remembered.

Similarly, athletes aim to accomplish feats and break records in competitions. They aim for glory. They aim to be written in our history books. Some people go to war and aim to die a hero. Die a glorious death and be remembered a hero. That was a common call and slogan when countries want to recruit for war. And people buy into it, not knowing the eternal glory they hope to find for usually ended in unmarked mass graves. However, this is also the reason why people want to be in a relationship.  When they grow older and think more wisely, they want to be in a long term relationship. They want a relationship “till death do us apart”. This is the reason why we have a tendency to clamor to be with someone, why it is a natural norm in all societies to form couples. We want to feel remembered and feel cherished by someone else. Every single day that someone will remember you and tell you, “you exist”. They are our most probable chance to be remembered by. We have our parents, then our spouses, then our children and hopefully our grandchildren. But our spouses will most likely be there the majority of our lives. That is the principle of relationships. To know a person as what they are and acknowledge them. Acknowledge that you exist and acknowledge that you are alive.

Another possible situation which makes us so self-conscious about us wanting to exist is that our mortality scares us; the prospect of not existing after our death scares us. The thought that our time is finite makes us want to be more immortal. I talked about “immortal thoughts and mortal body” in Thought is the illusion of Utopia. We create and extend our thoughts and beings into the world to “extend” our mortality. Some “part” of us can live on in this world. Some idea, some beliefs or some “self”. That is why poets and artists proudly sign their name on their masterpieces. A boss signs his name on important notices and documents. The end credits in a film feel so important to those who made the film that they must be present. We name companies and buildings or roads after ourselves. Traditional Asian communities remember and respect their ancestors with statues or plaques of their ancestors’ names or faces in temples or living spaces. We create graves to mark our burial spot. We want to tell the world I exist. We want to tell the world I am immortal. I was here. A person wants to stamp their mark on this Earth, saying I lived. It is a temporal feeling of greatness and infinity. A delusion of sorts to live forever. I exist.

Last of all, writing this and knowing some people read this makes me feel a tinge of pride and happiness. I am telling people I exist. It is an interesting topic to write about; existence. That is surely an exciting topic to delve upon. It’s a strange and scary thing really, about existence. Our purpose. Our life. So vast a potential but yet no answers. The randomness and possibility of choices. The realm of our physical environment. There is definitely a grand scheme of things. I have to believe that because not believing in that would mean living is useless and futile. We might as well not exist. We lose our purpose of existing. So there must be a reason. A reason why I can think and create. A reason that I AM. A test? Maybe. That is the choice I took. But for now, I am just surely and gladly able to say. I Exist.