Theory of My Existence
For those who are wondering what this writing is all about, it's not a fictional story. However, I would appreciate if you consider it as a memoir of me, because it's actually made as such. I am an unknown speck of dust, created on a fateful day of this month, the flowering season, or the fire season- March. This writing is a commemoration. I will never forget the day when I was born, for it was the day when I began to take part of this so-called 'existence'.
I live to exist. Not that I exist to live. The two words are very different. When I was younger, I used to interchange these two words, but as time goes on, I simply become more inclined to one of them, rather than the other. I want to exist, not much to live.
The paradox of living is that it can survive without the body. It is less physical, more like a spiritual in nature. I can live on without my arms, or my legs. That could die yet still live on. But in existence, I must be in my physical form, to be able to consider that I do. My own body, my crooked teeth, my unevenly colored skin and feeble bones, define my existence.
Since childhood, I have always marveled on the beauty of physical existence. I could not comprehend it back then, and now, I could only grasp a few aspects of it, which I can understand.
Since existence of the physical body can cease, and be easily corrupted, it has been my desire to understand the significance of maintaining the essence of it. Of making the best of it, for it wouldn't stay as it is. Time proves that. The body cannot keep up with time. It denatures as time goes by, and before you know it, it's already gone.
I'm beginning to experience the diminishing state of physical existence. I've been visiting my dentist frequently, for tooth repairs. My teeth were the first ones to experience the slow process of degeneration. When I was younger, I used to devour sweets like a maniac. And I don't practice dental hygiene. Brushing my teeth is the farthest that I can go. Too bad, lately, my dentist said that my teeth are slowly wearing out. I asked if it's because of my habits, but she said 'no'.
My teeth are weak, because they are naturally weak. I wasn't able to preserve the fundamental nature of my teeth, and now, I watch them tarnishing like pieces of demented dreams on my bathroom mirror.
Then I wonder, how long would I be able to make my body exist? Could my body be drifting away, wasting while my soul is still alive?
Should I be able to exist?
That is when I had the goal of existing. Not just for the sake of my teeth. In this essay, I hope to prove my hypothesis… that I live, to exist.
I was about fifteen when I noticed the changes taking place on my body. My face had a lot of pimples, my hair started to grow drastically long (so I consistently cut it), my hips started to get wider, and my breasts, more obvious. Puberty is the perfect term to describe it. I really don't care about these physical changes. I was more like a 'spiritual person' back then. I characterize myself by the things that I do, not on the way I appear as flesh and blood. Or I become more absorbed into the act of defining my emotional, spiritual and intellectual horizons, that I wasn't able to make sense of my physical existence. But then it wasn't the case now, when I'm eight years older. When my body started betraying me, and depriving me of my youthful satisfaction.
Though our body controlled by the brain (as science claims), I have experiences when my body acts on its own. This excludes body reflexes of course, for they are technically brain-controlled mechanisms.
Examples of this are my hands. They are my perfect servants for they touch the things that I want, do chores for me, and even feed me. But sometimes, they take revenge on me. I just know it. When I try to move them and write legibly, they wobble like uncoiled springs, resulting into an undecipherable handwriting. I became popular in my workplace because nobody can read my lettering other than myself. No matter how I try, they simply resist my aim to improve my lettering. My own hands are betraying me.
One thing that I love about my hands on the other hand, is their texture. Never have I experienced calluses on them, even if I do a lot of lifting and scrubbing and washing. Unlike my teeth, my hands maintain their fundamental nature.
My feet are of a different story. If my teeth were problematic, my feet are far worse. In fact, I've given up on them.
There was a time in my life when I hated my feet. Not because of how they look (well, partially yeah)… but because of how "stupid" my feet were. Perfect example is my awkward movements. My big feet never failed to lose balance on school lobbies, on the school canteen, and even in front of my high school crush. I always trip and "fall" literally. The worse thing about this is I'm on flat shoes! No stilettos. I even trip while on slippers!
How did I manage get back at my feet's behavior? I wore uncomfortable shoes. In some cases, tight shoes and tick socks. But that didn't really work. I ended up soaking my on basin of lukewarm water every night while cursing in pain. My feet's nature was to pester me, and somehow, I managed to tolerate it. The tripping incidents decrease as time goes by, (but then they didn't totally disappear). The calluses weren't that many, and the big toe isn't as horrible as it was once.
In those instances, I realized that my body, with all its pieces has its own story. I wanted to live in harmony with my body, for it solely defines my physical existence. My soul rests in it. And my ideas are incased inside my brain. It's the physical distortion of matter that makes the universe expand. It is the tangible evidence that a universal force is at work.
I therefore conclude that I, with all my corporeal make up, am a distinct creation that no one can obliterate and plagiarize.