On the indifference of life

If a person is no longer capable of enjoying life, then his life is no longer worth living. Life itself holds no value. For even though it is the condition for happiness, it is also the condition for suffering. Life is neither grotesque nor beautiful; it is simply indifferent.

I fear this may be the last time I will see my brother. He has been happy for the most parts of his life, and for that I am happy. But in the past two months, he seemed to have lost some very crucial motor capabilities, which in turn prevents him from doing so many of those things which he loves. This makes us all upset. And now, still worse, he is being pricked by needles and plugged by tubes, and has to suffer through the occasional operations to clear the congestion in his lungs. It is all very painful; and whenever we would walk to his side, he would always look at us and shake his head; his eyes imploring us to stop this discomfort, to remove all these needles and tubes from his body. He is pain but he does not know why. He wants to return home and go to his computer; he wants to go back to his life just a year ago, where he had still a good control of his finger and could whiz about on his wheelchair. He’d be laughing and smiling so happily, and making all those noises which we couldn’t understand but knew that it was his way of telling everyone that he was happy.

All good things have to come to an end, I suppose. Life gives, but also takes. I do not know if that is a good deal at all.

The best is to meet everything with indifference. But how could I? When all I see in the house are things belonging to him… oh, what am I saying; he’s still breathing – though with tremendous effort.


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