Losing Myself

I'm back to thinking too much, as usual. Once again I'm stuck pondering a particular topic, one which roots run through and through our lives, from our adolescence to our dying days - who am I? The ever quintessential question of identity - seeking it and finding it.

After spending much of last night (unproductively) doing online quizzes, I've been wondering about the validity of my answers and my supposed characteristic traits and attributes. I wonder whether I actually know myself in the way I profess to do. I wonder whether my results will differ from those of my perception, and why they might happen to be.

I wonder really: who am I? It's one of those questions that will never fade, even as life and time goes on...

Waiting for Godot, one of the best 20th Century plays (which I regret not doing my Lang Arts project on), perfectly captures the phase of my life at present. I'm waiting, like Vladimir and Estragon. But for what? In the play, Godot never comes. They are only told that he will come "tomorrow". But in reality, Godot never appears, not once in the play.

I guess I'm waiting for answers to life, and things to change. Or is that a fictional belief I've conceived? What am I waiting for really? What am I striving for? What is at the end of this maze of endless doors? When will I come across the final door which, when opened, does not lead to another pathway with a door at the end? Choices only lead to more choices. Will there ever be contentment? I think I'm searching for that; for appeasement. To still and calm the restless search for the unknown. I'm waiting, searching... not knowing what the future holds, or why I do what I do.

We wait. We wait for the chance that the next day will be better; that the sun will shine brighter. We wait to fill the gaps in our life with others who come and go, and when they do, we wait for the next person(s) to come along. We wait for the moment we gain fame and fortune after working our lives away. We wait for the acknowledgement of our labours. We wait for the requited love we all seek from friends and family, our loved ones. We wait to connect our hearts to those we miss. We wait for the weekend, for that brief respite. We wait for night, to know the tumultous day is over, and we can finally rest. We wait for time to pass; we wait to grow up. We wait - upon passing on from generation to generation. We wait for the meaning of life, or is it the coming of life? We wait for the passing of life... We wait.

But are all the things we wait for like what is said in Ecclesiates 4:6,7? Are they all not but a chasing after the wind? Are not all these things meaningless? By what validations, expectations, and purposes do we build our castles in the skies? Do we build for the past, present, future? Do we build for eternity? Can we wait for eternity? Are these all but meaningless under the sun?

Who am I? What am I waiting for?

I'm waiting for you, like I said I would.

What am I waiting for?

I'm waiting for the day You call me into Your Purpose.

What am I waiting for?

I'm waiting for revival.

Your Purpose remains ;