Autobiographical ramblings, part whatever
I t may be an anthropological universal to be searching for meaning. The existentialist, basic problem of being : why are we even here? (That the answer, to anyone not subscribing to certain kinds of faith, has to be “find it for yourself”, we’ll just leave here at the door.) It is quite interesting that, in recent years, I increasingly often noticed myself thinking, “It would be nice to be sixteen again”—but not to be young again, but to be happily satisfied with playing videogames. Actually, I doubt I was ever happily satisfied with playing videogames: but my memory conveniently purged itself from all the moments of anxiety, boredom, and aimless searching that were bound to fill a lot of my time back then. Now I am writing these lines while dedicating time to listen to music. Even worse, listening to music that I already know, I already often know very well: songs that I, at some point or another, told our new electronic overlords that I really like them. The question, of cour...