More Questions than Answers

Growing up and older should mean you know more and understand more than you did earlier. At least that's what I expect. But surprisingly, I find myself having more questions now than ever before.

Now, more than ever, I don't understand why we live and what the purpose of this drama called life is. I don't know what it is I should aspire for, what is really meaningful. I don't know what a good life is supposed to be. I don't comprehend what makes a person really good. But most of all, I don't know what to do with the rest of my life so as to have lived a life worth living.

These questions are not passive. They gnaw at me and splash around in my heart like choppy sea. They won't let me enjoy frivolous pleasures and make me stop and consider every action. They make me somber and quiet.

I remember asking these questions even when I was younger. So why am I bothered by these questions so much more now than when I was younger? Did I know the answers then? Or is it that I didn't know enough then to even understand what these questions meant?

Questions, questions.