My life was like a long, unending tunnel.
No light, no visibility, and no turning backâit was a path so far gone that even contemplating retreat was futile.
Yet moving forward held no promise of an end, no hope of finding anything waiting.
I walked. And walked.
When I stumbled and fell, I got up and kept walking.
When fear of the dark gripped me and my body trembled uncontrollably, I forced myself to endure and moved forward again.
That was how I lived.
Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say I existed.
I asked myself, and I answered myself.
Why did I do it?
Because someone had to. Because there was no one else.
But to my answer, I always countered with another question.
Was it really something I had to do?
Could I truly justify my actions as being necessary, as having some greater purpose or conviction?
â...â
I couldnât answer.
Because deep down, I already knew.
I had no such purpose. No grand ideals drove me forward.
When had I ever dreamed of righteousness?
I never had. Not once.
I neither possessed nor sought such ideals.
So then, what was my cause? What had I lived for?
I couldnât withstand the tide that swept me away.
That was my excuse.
I told myself it was inevitable.
That I did the best I could under the circumstances.
That it was a matter of survival.
But when asked again, the answer was clear.