On The Significance and the Insignificance of Being Human.

People fascinate me. Every day I wake up in the morning, I marvel at being human. In the billions of other possible species that I could have been, I was, by luck and pure chance, thrown out of a womb that belonged to a descendent of the most cerebral species on the planet. What did I do to deserve having a human brain, the most complex system/organ in the known universe? Nothing at all. My existence is contingent. It doesn’t have to be, it isn’t necessary, and it is totally meaningless and purposeless.

But this is what makes it so amazing to be me. The fact that I don’t have to, but I do nevertheless exist, is indeed what gives my life meaning. If my existence was the decision of a higher intelligence, and if I was created and put into this world for a purpose, then my existence would be rendered less meaningful and less valuable because my life would then be the product of somebody else’s will and decision, and not the result of a meaningless accident. To me, something that is planned is always less miraculous and exciting than something that just happened by pure chance. So miracles are in their essences, deeply paradoxical, and this is why I tend to unfold meaninglessness back upon itself until it becomes meaningful.

I would scrutinize everyday objects and events with existential joy and astonishment, for even broken condoms, car wrecks, gum wrappers, cuss words, and the kind of fallen-from-grace sort of building display brilliance and creativity unmatched by anything in the known universe. Just as the slowest and the oldest cheetahs should nevertheless deserve the praises for having great speed, the shabbiest people, spending one shabby day after another, doing their shabby work should all the same, be praised for their intelligence by a larger and wider standard. The difference between Einstein and a high school drop out is non-existence in the eyes of a monkey, dolphine, or a fish.

But on the other hand, I would feel pity towards myself and my fellow human beings when their lives are examined under a different lense. Sometimes I would watch TV in between sets during my workout, and there would be one monitor showing ESPN, with some black guy sweating his balls out with a pole just so he could out jump his opponents by a few inches. And on the monitor next to it, there would be some seemingly insignificant flea on Animal Planet, without even asserting energy, jump over objects that are 200 times over its height. Imagine if humans have the potentials to jump that high. Even the oldest and sickest of us all would have the ability to leap over the Statue of Liberty with ease. And then I would feel obtuse, ridiculous, and hopeless for attempting to become stronger and faster, for even the most athletic human beings pale in comparison to the power and speed of many other creatures on the planet. What did I do to deserve being locked inside this bald, weak, and slow body? Nothing at all.

But then again, for most people, sense of desperation, depression, envy, jealousy and misunderstanding only comes when you compare yourself to people who are around you, and who are within your own league…people like your neighbors, classmates or coworkers. We are jealous of our friends and co-workers if they are just a little bit richer than us, but lose very little sleep over how rich Steve Jobs or Michael Jordan is. I would rather live in a world where I make 10 bucks a day and everyone else makes 9 than in a world where I make 20 a day and everybody else makes 50. I see a lot of kids playing their hearts out on the basketball court at health clubs, and I used to wonder why they even bother to try, for it is obvious that people in the NBA, even the worse players, could kick their asses with minimum efforts.

And then I realized that the reason why they feel significant upon winning is because they are beating people within their own league from their own world, playing against people who are wearing the same shoe sizes as themselves. If I was beaten by Michael Jordan, I probably wouldn’t feel half as bad if I was beaten by that teammate of mine who was always competing with me for playing time…even though Michael Jordan would shed a lot more blood out of me. But sometimes it helps to widen your scope, and compare yourself to members of other leagues or of other species. But such act of comparison can also be a double edged sword, as you can easily be discouraged when you are looking at the situation from the opposite direction.

By Frank Yang

“Voici mon secret. Il est très simple: on ne voit bien qu’avec le cœur. L’essentiel est invisible pour les yeux.”

(“Here is my secret. It is very simple: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”)

My latest:

streetlightsupermen.wordpress.com

A collaborative blog between myself and a friend of mine. We both post anonymously, so only those who know us well can guess the source of each entry. I'm hoping to tap in to his creative juices eventually, but they're only baby steps. If I could get him to let loose some of the things floating around in his head, the world would be a better place. He has a good habit of keeping me in check with my ego, whether overinflated or under inflated.

Untitled

I seem to have dug this one up from a past life. The feel is familiar, but I don't remember writing it, although I think I may have written a dozen stories like it.

I said “I don’t know why you ever would lie to me, but I'm a little untrusting when I think the truth is going to hurt you.” I looked up at her briefly, and left the house.
It was a cool night in November. I hopped on my bike and drove off without a predetermined destination. I could feel the night air pass through me. The low purr of my vehicle was the only sound audible in the still air. The wind kissed my face, and I opened my mouth to taste it- it was smooth, almost sweet. The road stretched out before me, poorly lit by a single headlight. The moon was out that night and the twilight illuminated the surrounding trees. I slipped into a dream; awake, but distant from reality. The landscape dropped off behind me, as if I was being chased by the edge of the Earth. Hours passed in minutes, while the stars danced a tango in the heavens. The sky resembled a back lit canopy with tiny holes in it.
I reached a bridge at the first hint of daylight. I stopped and looked about. Next to the bridge was a waterfall, loud and disorienting and throwing up so great a mist from the river it created that engulfed the bridge in a damp haze. An old man was standing on the side of the bridge, looking down at the cloud at the base of the waterfall. He wore a dark green poncho that nearly camouflaged him, and I hardly noticed him until he turned around. I could not see his eyes because the hood of his poncho covered the top half of his face, but I had guessed his age by his poor posture. He slowly raised a hand and I heard a bang. The last thing I remember is feeling the water close in around me, and then black.
I awoke on the side of the river rested on black rocks, my vision flooded with sunlight. I lay there, wondering how I got down that metaphoric rabbit hole, when something caught my eye. I felt my clothes, heavy and wet, and found a hole in my shirt, just below my collarbone, about the size of a penny. I stood up and looked around. Past a few trees was a small cabin. I scrambled to my feet and ran over to the dwelling. There was a face in the window, and by the time I reached it, the door was open and a soft face smiled at me.
“Well, hello there,” the soft face said. “I don’t suppose you’re hungry?” The woman was young and talked slowly. She went on to explain that she had company a few hours earlier, but had made much too much food for the crowd, and had more leftover than she know what to do with. She kindly led me inside and sat me at a low metal table. The cabin was essentially a large kitchen with a bed in one corner. The kind woman procured a plate and placed a sandwich before me.
At this point, my body was screaming at me. Stop, it pleaded. No more, it begged. Slow down it told me. That cabin was everything I wanted at that moment: shelter, food, a bed, even a warm smile. Somehow it seemed too good to be true.
A moment later, I rolled over. It was still dark, and my body ached. I squinted through the darkness. Several feet away I saw something shiny. Again I felt my clothes. I was bruised and beaten, and my clothes were soiled and torn. I crawled over to the shiny object to find my motorcycle bent to pieces in a puddle of gasoline. Then, I walked home.