Do We All Share the Same Thought?

  The thought that we don’t truly have a purpose in life. We are born, we grow, we leave descendants, and then we die. That is all life seems to offer.

  Why come into this world if our existence will be irrelevant and our end so tragic—one where we don’t even know where we will go afterward?

  Does heaven exist? Would I even deserve it? Perhaps nothing awaits us at all.

  If there is nothing, then what is the point of living a peaceful life? Maybe it would be better to do whatever we want, whenever we want, ignoring the rules of a society where no one thinks of anything but themselves.

  Why do I have to do what they like, what they consider “right”?

  There is never a happy ending in any story. There is only the part that is never told: the unfinished ones, the stage of life where suffering is greatest. That is the real one.

  Stories are created so we can feel that we matter in a world that will eventually disappear, fading into oblivion before the vastness of our universe.

  The Big Bang, God, a simulation, an eternal universe… just theories. None will ever have a definitive answer. The only ones who know the truth are the dead—those who already crossed that door and endured the hell of the world to, perhaps, be set free.

  And if hell truly exists, ninety-nine percent of humanity will end up there.

  The one thing we always want to know is what lies after death. That is the primal fear: not knowing what awaits us when the mind shuts down. Clinging to the hope of not ending up in a terrible place, of not forgetting the good memories of our “magnificent adventure.”

  Dreaming of changing that story, fixing mistakes, making better decisions, having a “happy” life that never came. Leaving a mark, even if it is carved into the lowest branch of the tree of existence, before vanishing into the infinite void of nothingness.

  Being given the chance to relive my life was a true gift from God.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  One I am deeply disappointed in.

  Many would say things like: you had every opportunity, everything was handed to you on a silver platter, you lacked nothing, you have a perfect family—so why do you cry?

  No one will ever know what someone truly feels and thinks. They can say they “put themselves in my shoes,” but they never had to walk in them.

  I knew it was a mistake, that I would always be a failure. Thinking I had the chance to live a good life in a world where the only thing anyone ever talks about is suffering.

  Now, none of that matters.

  Even though I tried countless times, I never succeeded. I always lost my nerve halfway through.

  When I was about to fall asleep, I felt a tight knot squeezing my heart, and a dry tear slipped out—one that perhaps formed once a year from everything I was never able to express.

  In the end, I didn’t do it.

  It was just an accident.

  I thought everything had ended there.

  Before I stopped hearing the murmurs of the people around my body—the false concern for a blurred soul that never had relevance in any way and was now fading away—there was only a cold sensation. I closed my eyes and prepared to sleep.

  Then came a jolt.

  A powerful sensation of falling, like teetering at the edge of a bed, except this time there was no floor beneath me. It felt as if my eyelids were covering my eyes, and yet I could see perfectly as everything moved. Endless colors rushed past me, one after another, while something seemed to violently pull me in.

  I saw space, constellations, stars—the universe I had always hungered to know. Everything rushed past at the speed of light.

  Suddenly, everything turned black.

  All sensations vanished the instant the darkness arrived.

  Was it finally over?

  I felt as if I were rising.

  A new sensation ran through my body: the touch of cool soil, then grass damp from a recent drizzle. A breeze brushed against my skin—clean air I had never breathed before, so different from the polluted oxygen of the cities.

  I opened my eyes.

  The first thing I saw was the sky.

  Bluer than the ocean.

  The clouds were so clear and soft that, for the first time, they truly looked like cotton candy. It wasn’t an exaggeration. My life hadn’t ended. I was lying on the grass, touching it with my fingers. It was light, almost breathable, slipping between them.

  I wanted to stay there forever. To look at the sky, search for shapes in the clouds, to feel without thinking.

  Emotion filled me, and I couldn’t help but sit up to see more.

  “It’s not over yet…”

  I couldn’t hold back the tears. Real, genuine tears I hadn’t let out in a long time. For a moment, it felt as if all my problems had vanished.

  Before me stretched the most beautiful sight I had ever imagined: a world completely alive, as if it were made only of trees. There was no trace of civilization, and yet, despite the possible dangerous animals, venomous insects, and natural traps, I felt that I could leave all my past worries behind.

  There was no longer any need to remember.

  Just live.

  Now I was free. Completely free.

  After a while, between the excitement and the pleasant sensations of that endless green place, a doubt surfaced.

  “…Now what the hell do I do?”

  I hadn’t thought of anything. I was excited, yes, but I was alone in a wild world, where any bush could be hiding something watching me. Some animal waiting for the moment to devour me.

  “Damn it.”

  I jumped to my feet. My body felt light, as if gravity were weaker… or maybe it was because I had just gone through an extreme experience. I couldn’t stay lost in thought. I needed to move. Hunger would come sooner or later, and sleeping without a safe place meant death.

  I looked around. I was standing atop a raised hill. I didn’t recognize anything. Just endless stretches of trees. For a moment, I thought I had been condemned to a personal hell.

  “No way. If I’m here, I’ll survive. No matter what.”

  With that silent vow, I stepped into the mysterious world where I had been born once again.