From Fonts to the Absurdity of Existence

Times New Roman

Arial

Courier

Georgia

Lucida Grande

Trebuchet

Verdana

webdings

I have this weird obsession with fonts. Every time I write(or type for that matter), I would always make it a point to make one letter's font differ from the rest. The letters vary depending on the perspective of the article I'm writing. Usually, the letter M falls prey to my incessant desire to make it unique among others. I guess it's a way of expressing my constant yearning to feel different. I was always defiant of everything. I hated the very word of pragmatism. I took every chance to deviate from the norm. Every opportunity to be center stage.

It's not the attention I want...better yet, I hated attention.

My room.

my house.

Quezon City.

the Philippines.

the Northern Hemisphere.

the Earth.

the Solar System.

the Milky Way.

the Universe.

Gosh, I never felt so small.

The only thing I cannot bear in the entirety of my existence is the prospect that I am but a tiny speck in the universe. I hate the idea that whatever I do can be reduced to the tiniest particle of matter in proportion to the size of the universe. It is quite depressing to ponder on the irrelevance of my existence. If I die, who would care? my mother(of course), father, my 3 brothers, cousins, relatives, closest friends, love interests, friends, classmates, etc. but then again, what are they compared to the enormity that we call life? they are but tiny specks. Irrelevant flakes on someone's shoulder, dust in the wind, a molecule perhaps.

This is why I hate pragmatism. I cannot take the apathy people find refuge in. They accept everything spoonfed on them - every eloquent idea, every piece of information, every shard of meat, every slice of bread, drop of water...I could go on and on with this and will never find satisfaction in condemning the pragmatics. They have always seen society and the world as a maternal being taking care of us, her children. But we're old enough now, we can stand on our own, question anything that goes against our principles. Instead, pragmatics refuse to question the absurdity of life. They treat it without speculation, for questioning life would entail an endless array of philosophical questions that may bother or confuse than enlighten.

This is the life of the genuine philosopher. Always in between the paramount and the alternate reality. In a constant state of speculation and wonder, of profound thought and orgasm....this is my only escape from the anxiety that is life. From the thought of my insignificance to the monstrosity that is society. My shallow existence in this universe - a mere letter with a unique font floating in a vast sea of sentences, phrases and paragraphs.

P.S. Can you guess which letter has a unique font? :D