Existential Questioning Mga Nobela at Kwento

Emma felt it immediately. The question was different from everything that had come before. The system had questioned identity. It had questioned certainty. It had questioned meaning. But every one of those questions had assumed continuation. Assumed there would always be another cycle. Another process. Another interpretation. This question reached deeper. It questioned the assumption beneath all assumptions. The Observer remained silent. The Interferer remained silent. Even the presence that had appeared beyond the system offered no answer. Because perhaps this was not a question that could be answered.

I loved the way it was making me feel. "What are you afraid to lose?" He asked in soft tone which made me think of all the time I was afraid to lose something- which held little value. "Myself " I answered in a whisper. In order to shield my life from other. I happen to accept their judgement without caring for my own. "My Identity? Who am I?" I asked with uncertainty. My life has been so confusing lately that I had to question my own existence. There was a brief pause in that moment, it felt like the entire space was processing my thought and it made no sense.

“Like I’m some dying thing he has to save.” Her voice stayed steady. “And do you want saving?” The question cut deeper than I expected. My chest tightened. “I don’t know. Maybe. Sometimes I think it’d be easier if I just… stopped existing.” Her expression flickered, but her tone didn’t change. “Those are heavy thoughts. How long have you been carrying them?” I laughed again, harsher. “How long have I been breathing?” She didn’t write. Didn’t flinch. Just sat there.

I stopped breathing for a moment. Lucas looked at me. “It's asking us.” “No.” “It is.” “No,” I repeated. I stepped closer. “It isn't asking us to define coherence.” “Then what?” I pointed at the screen. “It's asking whether we can.” Lucas stared at the words. The difference was enormous. A system asking for a definition assumes the definition exists. A system asking whether we can define it acknowledges the possibility that it doesn't. That was the first genuine uncertainty we had seen.

The whole thing really was just exhausting and even a deep breath through my lips could only do so much. “The point is, there are far more types of witches than we’re familiar with now and it’s not essential the most terrible thing” He continued while I sat into the chair he just stood up from. “It’s more of an existential crisis thing” I muttered. Cowering my head to face the table, it was how I felt in the depths of my heart. Because only God knew what else I was that was kept from me. The thing is when something like this happens, you start to doubt everything.

You can't take away the only people that have acknowledged my existence! They're the only people that know I exist! I don't want them gone! I don't want to be forgotten! If they're gone, who is going to acknowledge my existence?! What the fuck is wrong with the world?! And people say there's a God?! With shit like this?! I Haven't even paid my debt to them! Why?! Why them?! Of all people?! This world... and everybody in it... can just die! And I won't give an ounce of sympathy.

the man responded. “How do I know this is even real?” I asked. I had no connection to this voice. No immediate sense of recognition. No feeling like I was talking to a parent. “I understand you have questions,” he started to say when I interrupted him. “Questions? I have more than questions. I have years of wondering where the hell you were. Years of wondering if you even knew I existed. My mother never mentioned my father, so how do I know this is not some sick game for you?” I asked, as my voice cracked.

The last person who'd known something true about me had been cheating and getting fucked in the ass by someone else three weeks before our wedding. Who could blame me? "That's a strange question," I said instead. "Is it?" "It's midnight. You're asking me an existential question because you're bored." I told him. "I asked because I'm curious." "About what?" "About you." He said it simply. He was just stating a fact. I crossed my arms as the hoodie suddenly felt too thin. It’s not like I knew much about him too. "Fine," I said. "Then let's make it fair. Who are you, Zane? When you're not being the Chairman. When nobody's watching. What do you actually like?"

The supreme confidence with which she withheld the larger secrets, perhaps such momentous truths as the existential answers themselves. Who are we? But leaves in the current. Where are we going? Where evolução takes us. What will we find when we get there? Do we really want to know? But I had only a simple question for her now, before she let me look at the thing. “Ma’am, if I may ask you something?” “Please.” Would it be that simple? Could I just ask her point blank what the fuck was going on and get a direct answer? Somehow this question seemed more important at this particular moment. “When you look back on your life, do you see only the good things? The happy things?”

Or do I stay quiet? Dad didn’t prepare me. He told me to come here. “How do you judge a man, Alex?” he asks abruptly. “On what basis do you judge him?” My head is blank for a moment. I didn't expect an existential question though I suspected things will begin with some sort of question. My mind races, searching for an appropriate answer. Is this an interview? A trap? If I answer wrong, am I disqualified before I even start? I take a deep breath. “I believe by what he does.”