May 24, 2025

The Fall

thinking about people, and Camus.

Peace is the by-product of our inability to apprehend our own sins. How could we? How could live after knowing disgusting facts about ourselves, the hopeless misadventures and myriads of sins we have done, of all the cruelty we have subjected into this world?

Two ways to go about it. First, commit suicide. Remove yourself as the sole object in a doubtful case. Or, second, become a judge-penitent. Ruthlessly confess, ruminate, reproach yourself. And preach. Make others disbelieve. Make others miserably aware.

We humans are vile. We humans are driven by lust, power and melancholic pride. We remain indulgent, evermore fueling our egos. We want to dominate. We want to win.

Always, "I, I, I." It is the motto of our living.

We live to commit debauchery, to gloat and and live in the shadows of falsehood to hide ourselves, not because we are scared but because everything seems works just fine. Until you fall.

Albert Camus's The Fall gave me the existential creeps. I did not understand it all, but understood enough to make me think more about myself and the world around me.