闲人

I am afraid of death. I suppose there's no shame in admitting to it.
I am afraid of death.

Not of what is in store, at least, not only. More of the prospect of losing everything. Which is not in itself the problem, as we are born owning nothing. Just the fact that one day all will be lost hangs over me and crushes my motivation: why strive for things that will be gone at an undetermined time under undetermined circumstances? It is like reading a book that will randomly, spontaneously combust, or playing a game that will delete itself randomly.

Yet the thing with life is that there is not much alternative. You either read on till the book burns itself, or you burn it and get it over with. There is nothing else you can do, or if you prefer a different metaphor, anything else you do has the same nature of potentially ending abruptly. The best you can do, I suppose, is read as much as you can and try to enjoy yourself while doing so.

Perhaps reading a book isn't a suitable example. It is more like an assignment, not always pleasant, sometimes it's hard work, sometimes you feel that it's a lot of effort for nothing worthwhile. Are the good parts worth enduring the bad?

Or maybe, we can choose not to do the assignment and just read a book instead?