and that is suicide —— Albert Camus.

This post is only for those who suffers from the following paradox, that

1. Life is in general bleak,

2. yet we should probably not suicide.

I spend too little time thinking about this thus I can give no good answer; I am also too bad at writing and myths so I am far from Camus. It takes a bit of talent to write "we must imagine Sisyphus a happy man."

First of all, I am obviously a coward. It is for this reason that the concept of suicide comes to me in the first place, but it is for the exactly same reason I cannot think about suicidal acts seriously. In general, non-assisted suicide cannot be done without pain, whether it is some physical thing (like walking onto a highway) or some chemical thing (like taking your medicine with alcohol; I have also imagined a very dignified Fugu poisoning.) Basically the problem is, it is usually when you wish to evade pain that you consider suicide, yet the act itself costs some pain. It is like that activation energy thing in chemistry, that even though you might end up at a lower energy state after the reaction, you need to first put in some to overcome a potential barrier. (How I hate the fact that the very few chemistry stuff I learned in high school ends up in this analogy. Rest in peace, hydrogen bonds, catalysts, and of course, enthalpy.) By this cowardness (and the absence of too much catalysts) I live to today, and the paradox is thrown aside.

That is all very simple and straight forward. To give other arguments, I really have to think hard. I will not argue why that life is in general, bleak. This thing you take it or you don't. Asking people "why do you think that life is bleak?" is the same kind of question like "why don't you like men?" or "why you don't like milk chocolate?" There is nothing to it; to sound expert I can say, it is jointly determined by genetic and environmental factors. (This is like saying that, we know nothing about this integer but if you really wish to know, I can secretly tell you that it is either even or, odd)

So we are back to 2, we should probably not suicide. Even though life is a long queue of disappointments, disenchantments, and slings and arrows (the fair Ophelia! Shakespeare you are dead now shut the f**k up), I have to admit there's something to it. There is the blueish purple black of a crow's feather, metallic. There is the D minor chord. Somewhere there is a sadder person composing a sadder song. When I feel sad, I know someday I can feel sadder. For the exact same reason, when I love this world and forget about myself for a moment, I know there will be a next time. It is absurd, but it is to very random and specific works that I grow attached to. I give my sincere thanks to The Essence of Linear Algebra by 3Blue1Brown, The Character of Physical Law by Richard Feynman, and people not known to the world that much, my most recent memory, the front desk lady's good morning greeting. Don't ever f**k with me highly socialized people who grown accustomed to things like good day and nice meeting you because I will trust you that you mean it from your heart.

When people bring out the awe in this world through the autonomous employment of their human care and ingenuity, I think it is still worth living.

But sometimes it is worth getting up from bed and thus keep living because I feel very hungry and all I want is bread jumping up from the toaster. With butter, salted.