Year after year I keep coming back to this question,
“Why even do I exist?”
“Who needs me?”
“Who cares?”
“Would the world be a different place without me?”
And the answer is probably not.
I breathe and therefore I am.
Here, because I am not gone, yet.
Doing trivial things. Things that don’t matter.
Filling my days with all sorts of things.
As if, it matters.
It doesn’t.
Because when only ashes are left.
Who would know why reading 500 books was necessary?
Who would care if I watched 100 shows?
And what about the 10000 meals I made and I ate?
Sometimes at the end of the tunnel is darkness.
If this is how you feel, read the next few lines.
The things we do — the meals, the books, the shows — might not carve their names into eternity, but they do matter in the moments we live them. They matter because they are part of your experience, your unique expression of being. They bring flavour, thought, and connection to the days that make up life.
Even if the world doesn’t seem vastly altered by your existence, you matter to the people you’ve touched. You may not see the ripples you’ve created, but they are there. A kind word, a moment shared, a presence felt — all of these leave marks, however impermanent they might seem. And even beyond what you do for others, you matter because you are here, living this complex, difficult, beautiful experience that is life.
