118 Rhys
118
Rhys
Who am I? Where am I from? What am I doing here? Why am I in this world? Those are the questions we should all ask ourselves at least once in life. And then there’s the crucial one, the one that weighs the heaviest: Is finding the answers that important? Do we need to find them to be happy?
One day, I decided I didn’t.
One day, I stopped looking.
Who am I? No idea. Sometimes I’m charming, sometimes idiotic, sometimes selfish, sometimes gentle, sometimes cowardly, sometimes brave, sometimes all of that and none of it. Where am I from? I guess I come from the sperm of some stranger that fertilized the egg of another stranger. But basically, I’m from my home, from sunny Tennessee. From my parents, my real parents, who were by my side every day, through the good times and bad, through pride and secrets and love and forgiveness. What am I doing here? Living. Like a bee. Living, living, living. Why am I in this world? No idea. And I stopped trying to figure it out. I just wanted to be. To lie down in the green fields, fill my lungs with the cold air of winter, see the sea someday, read some book Ginger chose, blast music through my headphones with my eyes closed, eat a giant plate of spaghetti with extra cheese.
And be with myself.
And be with her.