I’ve realized something: why do we even exist? Why are we even born? Think about it. You are born to complete a family you didn’t ask for. Then you begin to experience loss and grief—enough to tear out your soul, to destroy you. Then you take on the burden of survival and societal achievement. You start reaching for those invisible bars, stacking up achievements and working tirelessly as if that is supposed to change the outcome. But one day, it gets to your turn. You have to go too, to a place so vague that no one has ever lived to tell the story... pun intended. No matter what you’ve done, no matter how high you’ve climbed, the result is the same. You are left torn in the middle—in pain that you are leaving loved ones behind, while hoping you are meeting the ones you’ve already lost. It’s a weird, toxic circle. In the end, we are all just born to die. We spend our entire lives meeting expectations, only to realize we were actually born to let it all go—to move on, or maybe start agai...