Life is Unfair, That Makes it Fair

Funny, I always say this before. The unfairness of life makes it fair. So maybe, long before I encountered Camus, I already agreed with him. Here, a dialogue between me and some other me. hehe

Me1: Life is absurd, so what?
Me2: It is painful, that fact hurts me.
Me1: So you want out because it hurts you?
Me2: Well, yeah, sort of.
Me1: Ha! Chicken!
Me2: Easy for you to say, I'm bleeding here, life is flowing out from me!
Me1: It's like this, no one said it's going to be easy, they just said it's gonna be worth it. Now worth it really varies, for me "worth it" is something interesting, I can see your bleeding, and it is interesting. Haha
Me2: Ouch!

I can really agree with Camus, absurdity is there, you cannot escape it or find a way out, you cannot also find any solution to know why it is there. It's there because it's there, escaping it would only make you lose a part of you. Now in my previous post I mentioned that for me absurdity is somewhat part of the divine, well, my point in saying that is because for me the divine is life it self, it is everything, including the absurd, I don't know how to explain further, maybe I can use Heraclitus as my stand point (I know, a little off-topic since this man is from the ancients) in explaining my point that for me the divine is everything, more like a pantheist. And so, I have accepted that I cannot escape absurdity, and that absurdity makes life interesting, like Sisyphus, what I can do is have fun doing what in the first place is not fun, I can only find peace in there.

Then again, my being sometimes shouts, WHY?! haha, but of course it is only a product of my being human, hence this poem that I thought of sharing, about a picture of absurdity, this was my first and last published work under Malate Literary Folio

Fetter

A wolf is in hunt
for a deer escaping through
the beds of snow,
leaving blood-stained hoof prints as if winter would not
let it go.

The cold wind
shivers the town
of a little girl
hampered by boredom.

Snatching her hood she stepped out,
holding to her basket so tight,
longing to leave her home,
wanting to pick red berries amidst the snow.

She saw the wolf
circling the deer,
it is helpless.
She runs home, dropping her berries as if the memory of the deer would not
let her go.