The other day, I was in Portuguese class and couldn't think of anything else but coming home and write. I was depressed that day, so I wrote this:
Perfection.
People think they have a purpose in life, which varies from person to person. But their real purpose is to be perfect, achieving perfection. This is the common goal of the human being.
But why do we want something that we'll never achieve? Why do we fight so much for something that sooner or later, ends up destroying us? I don't know.
Certainly man has tried so hard to reach this end, they forgot to reflect on its costs. We tried to stop the war, the infidels, those who did not meet its duty, but never thought of where actually all these thing come from. Wasn't because he thought the world without Jews was a perfect world that Hitler sent slay them? Wasn't because we want to achieve a perfect technology where we don't have to move to go anywhere, that the world is how it is?
And talking about someone whose goal is to reach the top of happiness, the top of his job, someone who wants to be the most important. This person tries and tries but never gets there... Okay, maybe he'll get to the top of his jog (if he's lucky and work very hard for it), but he will never reach true happiness, because their concept is very relative and, as he is so keen to get there, he will never see that he's been there for a while. Human beings think happiness doesn't bring suffering, and if it brings it, it isn't happiness anymore. But don't we say this one comes with a little suffering? So why aren't we happy? Surely all of us have already suffered and smiled. So, what do we want more?
The answer is simple: perfection.
We think perfection is such a good thing, that when reached, there is no better. Well, perfection is the worst of all drugs that could ever take. It wears us, turns us against each other, consumes us, and without realising we deliver us so entirely to it we stop caring about the others. We blind ourselves without even realising it, or without even caring. And if, by chance, we reach perfection, we are without purpose, we have no reason to live, we are left with nothing. Empty.
I'm not saying we shouldn't try to reach it, but that we do it carefully, cautiously, and then we may be happy.
Don't know if it made a lot of sense, but I thought i should publish it.
Hope you enjoy!
C.R.