What is the meaning of life? What is the meaning of a purpose? Then what does it mean to be human? These questions haunt me lately. Not like ghosts but more like salesmen trying to sell me their products. Relentless. Annoying. Socrates preached the virtue of self-reflection. But what if the mirror only shows emptiness? What if the examined life is just as hollow as a rotted log?


    A life without purpose is like a coffee cup filled with shit. You can still call it coffee, but everyone knows it’s shit. Nobody wants it.


    And no… I am not a philosopher and not trying to become one. I still use Google and Reddit to get some answers. One thing we may have in common? Unemployment. That, and time. So much time. We got so much time doing nothing, and it turns out it infected our brain with an existential crisis virus. That makes us ask, Why are we here? What’s the purpose of life? Dumb questions really, but it still stuck inside my mind. And I have no answer for it.


    At least real philosophers get paid to be confused. I do it for free. While they get famous after that. I am still just… Unemployed. Unwanted. Unappreciated. The three U’s of modern existence. Which I don''t think I need to proud of.


    Yeah... I wonder what my father would think about me. A failed son. Would he still smile and cheer me up like he used to? Probably, not right?


    Maybe this is a sign. I need to do something. Anything. Not only just thinking.


    Just like that, morning is coming. Alarm is ringing. But I am still lying in the bed. My body is stiff as rusted hinges. Just like a robot that lacks maintenance. My bedsheet smells like rotten flesh. That kind of persuaded me to wake up and do something about it.


    So, I did. Changed it to a new one and tossed the old into the laundry basket. It also changed the atmosphere around. A little bit better, I think? However, the room still fully reeked of me. Then what now? I don’t have anything to do. Do some leisure thing? Heck, I don’t have a TV or internet access, so YouTube and Netflix are out of options too. But also, I don’t want to go outside. It will be cold as hell, and I don’t want to go outside unless I really need to do so.


    I lay back down on my now clean-smelling bed. Staring at walls and ceiling. It was empty. Just like my life. Or at least that''s what I felt about it. The kind of emptiness that wasn''t just about the room, but something different... like a shadow that slowly eating me alive. An endless hole with nothing to fill it.


    Maybe I should eat something. Maybe I should get up. Maybe I should stop thinking in circles and actually do something for once.


    ...


    Yeah. Or maybe I should just rot here. That sounded easier.


    I was still lost in that thought when someone knocked on my door. The knock came again—and again, and again. The doorframe trembled. Dust drifted down like snow. And I didn’t move. Because somehow, I already knew who was behind it...


    “Ryan… Are you there?” The voice from the outside called my name.


    Of course, I am. You think I’m at some nightclub blowing my life savings? Oh wait… I don’t have any. However, I don’t say it out loud.


    I answer casually, “Yeah, Wait a minute please…”


    Then I woke up. Again. Take a better shirt and pants in the drawer while also throwing away some trash along the way. I felt like doing some involuntary workout. Well, not a bad thing, right? But for some reason this makes me feel old because my joints will creak every time I move. Does this suggest that I should sign up for a gym membership?


    After half-assed cleaning and throwing on clothes. I open the door. It was my old friend, Jason. He had travelled quite far from his place to come here. Rare occurrence, a bit of surprise in the morning.


    “What’s the matter?” I said to him.


    Jason wrinkled his nose. “Christ, Ryan. It reeks like a dumpster in here.” He stepped inside eyeing the pizza boxes like they were crime scene evidence.


    “How long has it been?” He asked in a noisy, condescending tone while giving me a strange look.


    “Since what? My last shower? Job interview?” I said annoyed with his gesture.


    “So, you’ve just been rotting in this shithole?” He asked again, this time his words stung me.


    But it is not wrong, though. It is true for at least a week, I think? I don’t go anywhere except when I need to buy some groceries.


    “Is that a problem?” I said.


    Then he looked at me. His gaze sharpened—like a hawk locking onto prey. Last time he looked at me that way, I owed him $200. Ah… I did not yet pay him back.


    So, he is here to ask for some money? Well, let''s find out. “Did you bother coming here to collect the $200 I borrowed last time?”


    This time he seemed confused and said, “That''s one thing; there''s something else I want to talk about. You got a minute?”


    Since I have nothing to do and don’t have any reason to refuse. I waved him in. He dragged a chair from the desk, its legs screeching against the floor, and sat. While I sat on the bed facing him.


    “Have you got a new job?” He asked.


    I shrugged. “You can guess.”


    “So… still nothing?”


    As usual, his words were straight to the point. But then he leaned forward. “An editor at NexusPage needs writers. For a new serialization.”


    The words hung in the air. A tempting offer. A real chance. But…


    “No, thanks, Jason. I’m done with writing for now. Just… tired.”


    His jaw slackened. He stared at me like I’d swapped faces with his ex-girlfriend.


    “Really? Are you the same Ryan I know?” He looked flabbergasted.


    Something that wasn''t entirely out of my expectations. His reaction was priceless. It was the first time I''d seen him genuinely surprised in ages


    “I am. Do you think I am doppelg?nger?” I asked jokingly.


    He scratched his chin. Then asked, “Is this Ryan, the same person who has been pursuing his dream of becoming a writer for almost 10 years? The one who called it his ‘life’s purpose’ and suddenly now… lost interest?”


    Typical of an old friend—digging up graves I’d buried. If only memory had a delete key. Wouldn''t that make our lives easier?


    “Forget it,” I said. “I already have.”


    He pressed a palm to my forehead. “Are you sick? Or… has something cracked in there?”


    Does he think I''m crazy? Well... he''s not entirely wrong if he thinks so. Maybe I''m already at that stage. The same stage as Socrates, Aristotle and Diogenes. The stage of realization. Although of in my case it was a lower quality like a dollar-store epiphany, but still.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    “I just realized that I can''t stay in the cocoon of my dreams forever. Reality makes me reconsider my life''s purpose.”


    He stunned, “You''ve really changed since our last meeting. Did something happen?” He asked, his face still full of disbelief.


    I remember it. The time when someone believed in me. Telling me that I can reach the highest stars. But unfortunately, this world is not about me. Everything can change. And change is abrupt. Humans hate that. We’d rather chew glass than admit life’s a roulette wheel.


    “I told you,” I said. “You’ll never understand.”


    He tilted his head. “Normal people don’t use excuses like that.”


    Good point. Never felt like one. A bizarre human, with a bizarre mind.


    “Maybe I’m not,” I said.


    He shook his head slightly before saying, “Have you thought about it carefully? Throwing everything away? Will that solve the problem?”


    Because I could feel that he was quite worried, “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ve thought about it. Deeply.”


    “Fine.” He sighed, the sound of a man negotiating with a brick wall. “Take the card. For old times’ sake.” He then pulled out his wallet, leather creaking like a rusty hinge. “Call him if you wake up tomorrow feeling human again.”


    But it seems he wasn''t just giving me the business card; he gave me something else...


    “This is for your phone. $250—enough for three months. Three months of… whatever this is.” He said as he handed me $250.


    I stared at him, confused. Why was he handing me money all of a sudden? I haven''t even paid the last I owed him yet. Then why does he give me more money now? Doesn’t make sense at all. Or did he think I just open donation?


    “I’m not your charity case, Jason.” I said to him. Sharp with irritation.


    He flinched but quickly hardened his expression. “Call it a Christmas gift. You remember Christmas, don’t you?”


    I didn’t. That explains why the weather is so cold now. Even then, I don’t want to accept that kind of money. Yes, I am unemployed. But not a beggar. That''s a different thing. I still have pride in myself.


    “Nah, you can keep it.” I said, pushing away both the cash and the business card in his hand.


    His face darkened. Anger. Did I say something wrong? Was I doing something wrong? Before I could figure it out, he grabbed my hand forcefully, shoving the money and card into my palm.


    “Just take it,” he snapped. “I’m not arguing with you, so don’t make this harder than it has to be.”


    I felt it. A pity. In his eyes. In the way he talked. I don''t like it. I hated it. It made me feel small. And Pathetic.


    So, I pulled my hand away and threw all the money and business card on the floor. It scattered everywhere, like useless paper and plastic. No different than trash.


    “I don''t need your pity. You can give that money to someone else.” I said as I looked at his eyes. Narrowed. Lips tighten. And a face. Felt like saddened.


    Without another word, he bent down and started picking up the scattered items. Slowly, deliberately, he placed them on my desk. And the silence between us. It felt heavier. Something pressed on my chest. Hard to breathe


    Then he turned to look at me, his gaze steady. “I may have a decent job and a stable life now, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten our promise—to Ellen, and to your father.”


    Stop... Don’t remind me... Please, Jason...


    “So, one day we can go to their graves and tell them, we achieved our dream. Our promise. Ellen believed in you, Ryan. Even when things got tough, she never stopped, and your father... He can finally be proud after all the struggles you went through.”


    I know... You don’t need to tell me... I... I... Remember it...


    “I hope that happens sooner,” he added softly, almost pleading. “Because I believe in you too, my friend. Just like Ellen and your father did. Don’t throw that away.”


    And then he left. Vanished, really—like a ghost who’d come only to stir up old wounds and leave me drowning in unwanted memories again. Maybe... maybe this was just a dream. A nightmare dredged up from the past. Yet, refusing to let me go. Tell me it’s just a dream. Yeah, it was just a dream...


    I close my eyes, lying on the bed. Everything feels heavy. My head. My body. My breath. Am I drowning? Falling? I don’t know anymore. Just darkness. Slowly. Swallowing me whole. Consume me. Giving me peace at last.


    Hours passed—or maybe minutes. I don’t know. What’s the difference, really? Time had lost all meaning. My body felt weak. My throat raw. I opened my eyes. Same ceiling. Same emptiness. Alone in this suffocating stillness.


    I reached for my phone. Battery almost dead. 07:00 PM. Half a day, gone. That explained why my body felt drained, why my throat burned. I needed food. Water. Even though I wasn’t hungry. Wasn’t thirsty. A mortal curse—one I couldn''t escape.


    When I sat up, I saw it. The $250 bill. The business cards. Sitting on my desk. As much as I wanted it to be a dream, reality always hit harder. And since the money was there… I guess I had to use it, right? Even though I refused it before because of my pride. Starving won’t prove anything.


    It''s not like I had to return it. Jason forced it on me first.


    The only thing left in my kitchen was instant noodles. Not enough. So that’s it, then. I changed into a sweater, trousers, a coat. Stepped outside. Because there was nothing left to do in my apartment. Nothing but count the cracks in the walls.


    Maybe the cold air would clear my head. Maybe not. Who knows?


    I left my rundown, cheap apartment behind—only to be greeted by an unusual crowd. Too unusual. People looked… cheerful. A couple laughing, lost in their own world. A family walking together, perfectly in sync, like something out of a postcard. Did I step onto a different planet? Or did everyone just hit their heads at the same time?


    Then I saw him. The bearded man in red and white. The legendary Santa Claus. Of course. That explains everything. The festive mood, the laughter, the warmth in the air. It’s Christmas. No wonder the world feels… unreal. But it doesn’t explain why I can’t feel the same. They laughed and smiled like nothing else mattered. Maybe they were right. Or maybe they were just better at pretending than I was.


    Thinking like this only makes me hungrier. So, I went to the local burger shop. Crowded, more than usual. But whatever. I bought a couple of burgers and a Coke. If there''s one thing I can actually appreciate about Christmas, it''s the special discounts. A small win in the grand scheme of a miserable life.


    After I finished filling my stomach, I stepped out of the burger shop. But I didn’t head home. Not yet. Home only reminded me of things I didn’t want to remember. The weight of guilt. The people I’ve let down. Myself included.


    So, I walked. Through streets filled with warmth, laughter, and the glow of Christmas lights. Past the cheerful faces, the ringing bells, and the gaze of Santa Claus. Until I found it. A place untouched by all of this. A park, empty and silent. Forgotten. Abandoned. Overlooked.


    Like looking into a mirror. A place that shares my fate.


    There’s a bench beneath a large, shadowed tree. A park lamp stands nearby, casting a dying glow. A perfect arrangement. I walk over and sit. The night wind slips through my clothes, cool against my skin. Moonlight washes over me. And for a moment—just a moment—I feel lighter. Like the weight in my chest has eased, if only slightly. This place really... it suits me. Perfectly.


    I slowly thought about what Jason said earlier. He gave me another chance. Do I even have the courage to take it? I don’t think I has such courage.


    Since I realized. That my dream was poison. The more I chased it, the more it drained me, bled me dry. Maybe this is just how it is. Some dreams aren’t meant to be reached. Some things are better left behind. But...


    There were people who believed in me. Who never wavered, even when everything crumbled. They held onto that belief until their last breath. And I... I promised them.


    It’s been years since I visited my father’s grave. I''m too ashamed to go there. I always remember where he continued to work after his retirement. Because I am his failed son. Unemployed and pursuing an impossible dream. Seeing his sweat, his smile when he cheered me on. A debt I could never repay him.


    I can still see him bent over the kitchen table late at night, poring over bills with tired eyes. His hands calloused, ink-stained from working overtime shifts long after retirement. He’d look up and catch me watching, then grin like nothing mattered except seeing me succeed. “You’ll get there,” he’d say, ruffling my hair. And I’d nod, pretending I believed him.


    Maybe if I didn''t force myself to be a writer. I could give him a more decent retirement. He could be more at ease than having to worry about his useless child.


    It''s just that, becoming a writer is the result of my own promise. That''s why I''m scared every time I think about Ellen. She was the one who always told me that I had a talent for writing. She has helped me a lot. Even though I am too stupid to be able to use her help. One of her words I can never forget, "Your writing is beautiful. I can feel the things you want to express through it. Others might not understand it, but I do. I feel it."


    But it seems she saw it wrong. I have no talent whatsoever. Like a clown chasing an impossible dream, fooling no one but himself. For that I slowly threw away my dream. Reality made me realize that indeed, I am a clown. Because I keep deceiving myself.


    My chest tightened as I thought about her smile. As she lay with her body that slowly got weaker each day. The cancer eating up her life like it was nothing. Even then, she encouraged me. Yeah… In that condition, I still made her worry. Truly pathetic. It was me—the one who cried in front of her.


    My hands trembled, fingers curling into fists. What would she say if she saw me now? Would she still believe in me? Or would she finally see what everyone else does: a failure masquerading as a dreamer.


    Even though I once promised, one day Jason and I would visit her grave together. Where we will fulfil our promise as three of us. Jason with his dream of being a famous lawyer. Me who will be a successful writer. And Ellen who wants to see me and Jason achieve our dreams together. That was her last wish. Her dream. More than anything.


    But I am worry that would never happen. While Jason now is kind of succeed with his career as new lawyer. But I am the failed one. The living miserable. Probably it was better if I am the one whose gone. At least, my father doesn’t need to have a failed son and Ellen... She probably would have a good life considering her ability and personality.


    In a better story, I wouldn’t exist at all. Just silence where my name should be.