; Because I cannot be a superhero
I Want to Be a Superhero!
When I was young, I was a quiet child. Perhaps it was because I didn’t want to say anything unpleasant to others. I had a small dream. Although I was quiet and obedient by nature, there was a tiny dream tucked away in a corner of my mind. Watching movies like Batman and Superman, I wanted to become a cool character like them. That thought became a ray of light in my difficult reality, giving me a reason to keep going.
The Busy Life of Becoming a Social Being
However, like most people, my childhood passion gradually faded. There were times when I felt my self-esteem drop, thinking, “I’m such an inadequate person,” and times when I struggled with the thought that I could do better. But the conclusion I reached was that I needed to accept myself as I am. Too much ambition made me miserable and led me to think in extreme ways. The opportunities for me to evaluate myself were too limited, and perhaps it was the moment when I started caring too much about how others perceived me. Gradually, I blended into society.
Finding My Faintly Shining Self
In middle school, I watched countless movies and read many books. I believe the value of literature lies in providing a reason to live in our busy and exhausting modern lives. The world of literature is truly paradoxical. In reality, there are people living the worst lives imaginable, carrying immense pain. And yet, they live on. I don’t mean to say that we should find the value of existence in our lives being better than theirs. Everyone carries their own pain, and from one perspective, their lives are beautiful—a piece of literature in itself. We all live with countless sorrows that we often forget, but those very sorrows make our lives more beautiful. Beauty stems from pain. Pain helps us grow, gradually completes us, and makes us stronger. This flow of time transforms us into pilgrims walking along a predetermined path or one of countless other pilgrims in the universe. There are many things in life we cannot control, but perhaps we already know the answers. While humbly accepting our fate might be the answer, we don’t truly know what that fate is. Maybe all we can do is struggle. Every single one of our movements triggers something that creates our beautiful life and crafts the precious piece of literature called “me.”
Why Can’t I Like Myself?
I am neither a superhero nor an extraordinary person. One quote that left a deep impression on me is: “Everyone eventually reaches a moment when they become ordinary.” Does becoming ordinary mean losing one’s identity or reason for living? In our lives, where we constantly run toward goals, goals never truly define anything. Yet often we hesitate to reflect on ourselves before pursuing those goals because we think goals are what make life meaningful. Liking myself and realizing that goals alone don’t enrich life are important for filling our lives with value. In the end, what remains is the process of adorning the literary work called “me” with small and beautiful things unique to myself. Through this process, we can ultimately feel happiness and hold onto hope.