What is this world to me? It is a definite hell. This world is an absolute hell—a loathsome place from which one must escape. Perhaps that is why, precisely because I belong to a definitive hell, I dream of an uncertain heaven, existing somewhere far beyond its borders. This could be deemed a challenge akin to the Shawshank Redemption. Andy, even as he chiseled away at his tunnel, had no method of knowing whether his escape route was secure. Yet, night after night, he scraped at the wall, burrowing deeper into the earth. One day, he must have located that nauseating sewage pipe that held the mere possibility of leading outward. To pass through that pipe, a succession of fortunes had to align. To mask the sound of shattering the iron, thunder and lightning had to roar deafeningly, and the tempest had to persist until the breach was complete. Was that all? If the pipe had been completely choked with filth, he would have been unable to traverse the squalor, resulting in his demise. Despite it all, he waged a challenge with his very life for years.
Zihuatanejo.
Dreaming of the Pacific Ocean, he dug his tunnel day after day, performed labors he despised, and crawled through a repulsive pipe where all his efforts might have culminated in utter futility. Viewing this from an objective lens, it was an absurdity, a perilous gamble. Rather than doing so, remaining in Shawshank—a definitive hell—and surviving under a false accusation until life naturally expired would have yielded a far higher probability of survival. Yet, rather than living in such a manner, he advanced toward an uncertain heaven. Dreaming of a secluded island in the Pacific, injecting his body with that dangerous narcotic known as hope.
When I look back at over two-thirds of my life—a span exceeding twenty years—that place was invariably a definitive hell. I always yearned to break free from it, and though I did succeed in escaping, I merely arrived within another, vaster hell. Furthermore, it is a structure where misanthropy cannot help but take root. Those who remained in the hell I departed from were nothing but wretched human beings, incapable of cheering me on, offering encouragement, or extending a single warm word. Even if one survives the jaws of death to crawl through a pipe engorged with sewage, there is no celebration awaiting Andy. Would the convicts remaining in the prison cheer for him? Would they rejoice in his triumph? No—the mere fact that they remain in hell while Andy has ascended to heaven would do nothing but torture their souls.
Ultimately, whenever a person like myself thrashes about to break free from hell and advances forward, from the very moment of escape, the comrades and friends who suffered alongside me in that abyss cease to be my comrades and friends. Even if there existed a friend capable of genuinely rejoicing, that relationship could never be sustained for long. The reason is that the world beheld by the one who remains in hell and the one who has escaped it is drastically disparate. I could not comprehend those who continued to linger in hell while perpetually repeating foolish acts, whereas they simply required a fellow captive to listen to the grievances that allowed them to endure another day in their definitive purgatory.
Even if one transitions into a slightly less scorching corner of damnation, the fact that this world remains a colossal inferno does not alter in the slightest. Fools seizing power to exploit those vastly superior to them for a pittance, crushing their genius, and enforcing moronic directives is a time-honored, ancient tradition across all eras and lands. The only reason senile, ossified fools can endure in those positions without executing any real work is because the voting members of those organizations are entirely populated by bloated swine who wish to pocket money consistently merely by gluing their behinds to a chair. Such organizations inevitably face national disgrace, their true rotten substance entirely exposed.
The reality that the place beyond hell was merely another hell provided more than enough justification to harbor a profound loathing for existence. I dreamed of a finer life, yet within life, the finer thing was merely a slightly cooler room in hell, never true liberation. Therefore, I sincerely long for nothingness—an absolute void where every tie to this tiresome world is severed entirely. Yet, regrettably, perhaps because I have failed to utterly discard myself as the Buddha did, I cannot depart this world while avoiding the numerous responsibilities that remain of my time as a human being.
Thus, a sudden curiosity arose within me. If no responsibilities were left to bind me, could I truly seize genuine freedom then? Could I depart this definitive hell and advance toward an uncertain heaven? Am I a person capable of making such a choice? Or am I merely a fragile human being who overanalyzes and magnifies the standard dilemmas of life?
Though that answer will clarify itself only when the actual scenario dawns, I am, in all likelihood, a fragile human being. However, fragility and decisiveness are entirely different breeds of strength. I possess many fragile facets, yet I am far from a man devoid of decisiveness. I have walked paths I chose even when not a single soul stood to support me; I selected according to my own judgment, and I strived to secure ministers who could advise me against falling into prejudice. Hence, at the very least in this contemporary moment, I intensely long for a life liberated from this place, breathing free air. It is a profoundly strange thing—that I have secured the very technology and competence I desperately craved since my youth, yet in truth, absolutely everything has rendered itself entirely futile.
Since I am committing these thoughts to writing, I intend to instill a fraction more candid truth into the narrative. What is there left to conceal in a life prepared for death?
I have maintained relationships with three exceedingly attractive women as sexual partners. One possessed an appearance closely resembling Rosé of Blackpink, while another mirrored Momo of Twice. The last was the youngest, resembling Jeon Jong-seo. Leading a life of uninhibited intimacy with sexual partners rather than a girlfriend was a lifestyle I had only ever imagined since my childhood days. Whenever I encountered them, it was remarkably stimulating and pleasurable; yet on the other hand, it felt as though I had merely uncovered yet another layer of reality. No matter how freely one can dwell in this world engaging in casual intimacy with stunning, alluring, and youthful women—though this may represent the grandest species of pleasure attainable in this existence—at its core, there resided nothing but vanity. Nothing but an absolute emptiness.
Could it be that everyone is frantically scrambling to grasp something merely to soothe a profound void within this hell of reality, perhaps existing inside illusions and delusions no different from a falsehood? And while they desperately crave that illusion and delusion, could it be that—terrified their true substance might be exposed should the dream be realized—they refrain from executing any action to manifest it, passing day after day performing only those deeds that guarantee the dream can never be attained? Is everyone living their lives in that exact manner?
I do not know the answer. All I know is a narrative summarized in a few written lines, forged by a fraction of my memories and the outcomes of experiences gathered through living. Within my narrative, there is no hope. There is no particular reason for a human being to remain alive. If one exists, it is merely the primal desire residing on the identical baseline as any other animal. It holds zero distinction from what Richard Dawkins articulated in The Selfish Gene. For that reason, some confront nihilism at this terminus, some discover Nirvana, and others postulate an absolute being, asserting that there exists something we cannot comprehend.
Whosoever is correct, what does that matter to me? I am a man standing at the precipice of a cliff. Braving the winds of the firmament, gazing down at the multitude of people and the scenery below. A wandering soul, merely pondering, "Is today the day? Or must I descend once more to behold this landscape again?" I do not know the answer. I am simply thoroughly, utterly exhausted from living in this hellish place.