The Wandering Mind
Sometimes I question whether the world around me is real. I scrutinize every detail, hoping to discover a glitch, some subtle error overlooked by whoever or whatever created this existence. But after hours, days, weeks, I always surrender, frustrated, left only with disappointment. It seems no matter how determined I am, I am not permitted even the smallest peek behind the curtain of reality. Despite this, I swear there were countless moments in my life when everything should have simply ended - yet here I remain, lingering in the aftereffects of my own persistent thoughts. Perhaps forgetting me is forbidden, both for others and for myself.
I was born during a bleak winter morning in a nondescript town in southern Germany, in what some called a year of dystopia. My mother raised me alone, though her family quickly became mine. I was neither particularly diligent nor ambitious. Homework was something to be ignored, replaced by daydreams. My attention was captured instead by the bright colors of television shows, video games, and fantasy novels. Life in my small town was comfortable enough. Capturing Pokémon, watching anime, sharing kisses with girls who laughed easily. Eventually, this became insufficient, and I decided to venture outward.
Soon, I found myself in parts of the world I’d only dreamed about before. Berlin, Tokyo, New York. London, Paris, Rome. China, Canada, Turkey. Most places passed by quickly, never truly holding me for long. Yet still, a question lingers at the edges of my thoughts - did I ever really visit these sceneries? Or were all these journeys merely fabrications, elaborate stories spun by my mind to fill empty spaces in my memory? I suppose I'll know the answer only when my life finally ends.
For now, I'm settled somewhere in the southwest of Japan, wandering through streets that feel both familiar and distant. In this green city, I spend my days studying the analog and digital creations born from the minds of depressed people and even more depressed robots. These artworks are not comforting, but they offer a strange sense of companionship. The artists, human or otherwise, seem just as lost and uncertain as I am, quietly expressing their fears and confusion through screens and canvases. Each piece feels like a mirror - simple, truthful, unadorned by illusions.
After years of searching internally, desperately trying to find meaning within myself, I recently decided to abandon this introspection. Instead, I’ve chosen to embrace uncertainty, to allow myself to be consumed by the countless possibilities offered by this planet. Now, instead of hunting for hidden flaws or evidence that the world around me is false, I surrender to the idea that perhaps reality doesn’t matter as much as my presence within it. I wander, I learn, I live - hoping someday to understand not why I am here, but simply that I am here at all.