As I enter into the nether realms of this universe, I gave myself a minute to wander into the inner recesses of my consciousness to ask if I am truly alone; if I am the only one here entering oblivion and that there will be nothing more but only me in the other side.
‘Solipsism’, as my professor had explained to me. ‘Selfishness’ as what my mother argued against me, and to be honest, I still don’t know the damn difference.
The word Solipsism came from the two Latin words, ‘Solus’ and ‘Ipse’. The word Solus means alone and the word “Alone” already raises questions. Not only that but it also gives us a primordial fear that started ever since we were children. Don’t worry, I used the word ‘primordial’ because it has existed ever since humanity’s origin so you will never be the only one who’s scared of being alone, because at some point, we all are. It is that existing maturity within us that gives us a safe haven when we are alone, however, only very few people in the world could fully master this.
The word Ipse means “Self” and this one has been studied ever since humanity was able to remember. Aristotle had argued with the self ever since, and with that came the production of his thoughts. Many other philosophers had sprouted with many ideas of the self, but each idea of the self is unique (don’t believe me? Have a look for yourself). After Aristotle, another obligated philosopher, Rene Descartes argued with the existence of the self with these words: “I think therefore, I am”. Which means, that as long as you think, you exist. But existence is not only concentrated on the mind or the consciousness, but also in the physicality of it all. George Berkeley had asked the question: “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” which suggested that if we only think and not act or not aim materialize our thoughts, then therefore we never existed.
With both words explain, I come to bring up to you Solipsism.
Writing is an art form because writing gives the reader both a question and an idea. Like an invocative painting, I am here to present to you this simple word, which will hopefully give you an idea that will make you think about throughout your whole day or maybe your entire existence. This word only aims to ask the question, “Are we truly alone?”
I will only answer this question with a simple example. This example is a long one and but it does exist, so bear with me.
There is always that bias that exists within a philosopher that soon infects his very thoughts. It helps develop a theory and then the subjective theory, with given proof, becomes objective in the eyes of many. I am not a philosopher, but I am a human being that aims to exists in this universe, so I think, therefore I am and if I am a tree, if I do fall, then I will do my best to let the whole forest hear it.
I was born in the slums, in the forgotten part of my hometown. Noisy, smelly, and filled with sacrilege, both physical and mental. My mother still kept her sanity sacred, even if her art wasn’t pure. She would lie to me, telling me that she had to meet my father every night and with the countless ‘fathers’ I have met, it’s hard to keep track which one is which, so I started to assume that all of them are my father. I was born with a brother, who only aims to make something out of his life, so he entered himself in the production and distribution of medicine that aims to fill with the mind with ecstasy. This medicine is widely produced in the slums, and it is well sought more than food itself. I must say, my brother’s business was good. While my brother makes a name for himself and while my mother goes out to meet my father every night, I was stuck inside the house with nothing more but my thoughts. My existence is a simple one, and that I only exist if the people in my household choose me to exist. But if they only choose to make me exist, then do I truly indeed exist in the bigger scheme of things?
As I grow up, I realized that I am stuck within my thoughts more than anything else. I am confined by the only thing that makes me whole. My thoughts had consumed me and driven me to near insanity. My mother never came back home one day (and I had always concluded that she chose to live a better life with my father) and my brother just stopped. He just stopped moving, he stopped breathing, he just stopped with his eyes wide open and with a needle in his arm. Both people in my life ceased to exist. My mother’s physicality was no longer there, and my brother’s existence was only a body that was cold as ice and never aimed to move.
I never told anyone, because I can’t talk. I am mute. If a person exists in this world and no one could hear him, does he exist? If a person exists in this world and he only chooses to spend his whole life in one place and no one would meet him does he exist?
I lived my life in that dilapidated house for so long that I got used to my brother’s ghastly smell. I never knew he was dead, and even now, I still choose to believe that he isn’t dead. His bodily existence is still here so therefore he must still exist. But that questions my mother’s existence. I was born out of my mother so therefore she exists. All of these are the variables into my life.
I had no friends. I could not even understand what such a word means. I work in and work without knowing what my work even is. It’s carrying heavy things with my burdened body, it’s making things out of my bloodied hand, its running with my burned foot away from strangers that want me and it’s letting people do what they want with me when they feel like it. All of these are my jobs. But you see, I am happy with my life.
I am happy to see my mother having so many husbands, I am happy that my brother created medicine for people who need it, even if they had both perished in my life. I am happy of my creation, my very thoughts that brought me into this privileged school to study the simple thoughts of the human mind, because with their existence I am able to understand myself even more.
One day I was brought out of the slums, I can’t recall how or why but I was able to move out and into a different world. I studied and worked at the same time, every day and every night. I ate only when I needed to and I only drank when my throat feels scratchy and I only sleep when I feel like I am weak.
I studied and worked and it didn’t make me happy. Why is that? Because now only questions plagued my mind. Unlike before, when everything was simple, when it was only my mother, my brother, and me, everything seemed happy and fine, everything seemed normal. Now I only have questions that define normal, now I only have questions that define my existence. I never had friends because they would question me if I am alright, or if I need help. I never needed help. I am normal.
It is normal for your mother to never come back home, it is normal to stab your brother in the arm. It is normal to forget about everyone else and just think for yourself because this is your life and nothing else mattered. I am here because I thought of myself being here. I am here because I choose to type down my existence in the paper of time. I am here because I think, therefore, I am. In the bigger scheme of things, only what you think is real and everyone else’s thoughts are non-existent. This is my life and I choose to live it this way and the world will stop existing when I choose to.
I am dying, I am old and I am fragile and it seems that there is no way out from this life but to leave this mortal coil. I am the only one in this house made of gold, in the higher upstate of town. Did I make friends? Did I find my mother? Did my brother receive a proper burial? Yes, I made friends, yes I found my mother and yes my brother received a proper burial. My friends are never around because I choose them not to be around, my mother is dead and in some ditch somewhere and my brother is in an unmarked grave. I didn’t kill anyone but myself.
So I breathe hard into my life and only realize that the self is the only existence in this universe. That we are truly alone, not because we choose to be alone, but because our mind is alone and isolated from the rest. We are the gods of our own system and everything around us is our creation. But a tear still leaves my eye because it still makes me wonder, what if we are not alone, what if everything I told you is not real and that I lived a wonderful life with my mother who worked as a nurse and with my brother who graduated medicine. What if I tell you that I am lawyer who’s divorced and whose children are taken away from him to leave him dying alone in his death bed, writing some story that would never be read, in a house made of platinum, in the most respected part of town? What if tell you that you, that you, the one reading this right now, is my very own creation?
As I write this, I want you to know that death chases me with every pulse and that my very life is now limited. Just like your life it is by with empty promises and filled with pointless regrets. It is borrowed time that I am living in right now and I would like you to know that whatever happens, know this: the existentiality of the human being could never be quantified by words or by the heart. The existentiality of the human being could only be quantified by values beyond our very mind could not comprehend. Live your life, not wondering about your existentiality. Live your life with peace, knowing that you will leave your mark forever and that it will be remembered in the strings of time, forever eternal, forever here.
I make therefore, I am.
I am a tree in forest filled with trees, waiting to fall so that at least people would know me.