I have never wished to become someone.
No—I never want to be born as a human again.
I reject the wealthy.
I reject the intelligent.
I reject the beautiful.
I simply reject being human.
So when they ask me,
“Which movie character or fictional hero would you want to be?”
I have no answer.
That question means nothing to me.
Because I am not someone who wants to become—I am someone who wants to cease being.
What is happiness, truly?
Should I celebrate my birth?
Yes, I’ve felt joy in meeting my children.
But that joy cannot undo the fundamental suffering of human life.
To live as a human is to endure
eighty parts pain and twenty parts fleeting joy.
And though I still breathe,
I know this:
After death, I never want to return to this cycle.
So I envy the Buddha.
A soul freed from the wheel of rebirth.
A being no longer bound to flesh.
Free from the prisons of mind, thought, and body—
prisons built by the hands of relationship.
Humans are not meant to live alone.
Yet in every bond formed,
countless lifetimes of captivity unfold.
Why are we designed this way?
Why does every action demand its reaction?
Why are we born to relate—only to be bound?
Why did we create symbols and signs?
Why must we spin endlessly within the wheel of meaning?
Why are we forced into karmic ties—
even when we did not choose them?
I want to know.
And even more than knowing—
I want to be free.
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