Good Enough

The 12th of March is significant to me in 2 ways. Today is my 29th year on this earth, and for better or for worse, I'm stuck with myself. I have thought, said and done things to make me question my morality, and along the way I have flirted with self-indulgent despair.

Reading about the suicide of the young doctor back home, I cast my mind back to the days when I was studying for my finals outside the medical library. There he would sit, at the table by the wall, and as I glance up from my books I would wonder what it was like to be him: handsome, clever, fit, rich, strung with girls. What more could anyone want. So much has been swirling in the media about his dissatisfaction with his job, love-life, personal relationships.

But having never known him personally, I could never presume to speculate on his true motivations. The one thing that struck me though, my first impression upon hearing and finally believing the news, was that he felt that his life was no longer significant. I think that at the root of our beings is the constant desire to know one's purpose. And when that desire is lost, every act, even one of annihilation, loses its meaning.

It is because of this that despite everything, I still feel that I have a whole life to live, and people to love. Which brings me to the 2nd point. The 12th of March marks my 6th month in London. Just like that, in the blink of an eye, 2 and a half years remain. Within this time I have realized independence, cemented ties with the people I love, made new friends, met someone I may one day build a future with. It has been bitterly cold, but when it snowed, the world was warm and peaceful.

Just last weekend, D came over on a business trip. I have known him for 12 years fully, and we have settled into the comfortable intuitive bond that marks the understanding between old friends. Despite clubbing and shopping, the highlight of his stay was spent in his hotel room on Sunday evening before he left. We drank, had room service, sang out loud to Sarah McLachlan. The first time we listened to her together was 12 years ago, when we snuck out of the biology lab, hid in a 2nd level toilet, and plugged an earphone in each ear. Despite the impossibility of the widening years, the memory is clear as ever.

I wonder what gem of philosophical rhetoric I can put to end this post, but really, it doesn't matter. Despite everything, life still goes on. And despite everything, we still choose to go on living. It's just that these are the things that make it so much easier to bear.