Thoughts on the train

Everyone's racing, even time is racing...but we're all racing for what, exactly? There is no finish line. Life is a marathon with no finishing line. No one's a winner from this race because the only finishing line we would ever reach is the end of our lives and the reward we reap from reaching the line is death. It's where and when you lose it all; all you've lived to love, to earn, to achieve - it is all wiped clean, zeroes to nothing and comes to not mean anything, at all.

The hopeful ones moor on the delusion that there is a happily ever after, a forever bliss, a Heaven as they call it, awaiting for their arrivals. Like an oasis in the Sahara deserts after trekking for long, dreary days or weeks in the sweltering heat. An utter relief, an eternal life, they say.

The cynical ones despair at the fact that life is starkly meaningless. Life is brief and when it ends, emptiness surrounds. They don't see the reason to live when it is all going to waste. So, they live everyday brooding and not doing any productive nor beneficial to themselves, to the ones around them and to the world.

Me? I am on a balancing scale, weighing the options. Some days, I see the light and hope for an eternal life. Some nights, I don't know how to prolong the process of living or the reason why I am still breathing. I guess I am just a little lost, and very much confused, but aren't we all?

    Isn't it amusing how a train ride home in a foreign country could evoke such provoking thoughts?