hope world

synopsis: suicidal writer kim taehyung writes letters to his best friend park jimin about the decision he makes.

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chapter 1

[180 days]

28th of August 2017

Purpose.

A strange thing, isn’t it? Babies are born without it, only wanting to survive the shock of this world, and as we age, more and more purpose is added into our lives. We find it in books, in paintings, in sad violins. Sometimes we find it in someone’s eyes, or in their touch, or in their smile. Sometimes we find it in their comforting voice, and sometimes in their passionate, burning lips. Sometimes a person is all we need to survive.

People find purpose in the most insignificant things - rain; the intoxicated air that is inhaled upon a cigarette; seeing happy children on the street. They put meaning behind every detail, endlessly attempting to find an explanation for something that doesn’t have one.

They don’t give up, though. They keep asking themselves, “Why am I here? What was I born to do? What is my destiny?”

I don’t know if anyone but me will ever realize those kind of things don’t matter.

We’re not born for a reason. We’re a coincidence. To cover that up, we look for meaning as we grow, and think we’ve found it when we feel the tips of our fingertips itch and hear our mind think to itself, “This is what I was created for.” We fill our lives with things such as work and school and art, hoping everything will make sense one day.

But the thing is, it won’t.

Because in two hundred years, when every person who is walking around on this earth right now is gone, none of us will matter. This notebook will not exist anymore, and neither will the person who this notebook belongs to. Purpose can die. It happens all the time.

So why? Why do we do all this? Why do we think our lives matter? We focus on finding purpose so much, that we often forget how little and insignificant our perspective actually is.

Is it terrifying? Perhaps to some. But not to me. I believe that I will be glad to go when my day comes, with the sole knowledge of the fact that I have existed and left a mark upon this earth. As insignificant as it is, maybe earth would be different if I wasn’t born.

Or maybe I’m just fooling myself like all the others.

But that won’t matter when I’m dead, right? Nothing will matter.

The truth is, we all look for purpose. We put meaning in things because we know we have none. We try to hide our utter insignificance under layers and layers of things we think matter. We try to hide our exposed, worthless, naked selves.

People find purpose in all kinds of things. Whether it be work or art or that cute little boy from across the street who makes faces at you when you walk past his window. People find purpose in everything. And everyone has their own purpose, their own reason to be on this earth.