By Jacqueline Harpman
Published in 1995 originally in French, translated by Ros Schwartz
" To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering"- Friedrich Nietzsche
I recognize that you may not be able to read this, but I want to express something profound, akin to the respect you felt for the man who passed away with dignity in the chamber. You sought to honor his memory, ensuring that as long as you exist, he would be remembered. In a similar vein, I am extending that same honor to you. Many people argue about the essence of living—whether it involves worshiping a higher power, transcending the ordinary, or embracing one's true self without concern for societal judgments regarding sexuality and gender identity. Yet, you were deprived of these experiences, embodying the very question that stirs endless debate: "What does it mean to live? What does it mean to be human?" You traversed the world burdened with unanswered questions, and even if your life mirrored mine in some aspects, the fundamental inquiries would remain unresolved.
In your solitude, it became evident that many of the daily constructs people rely on—like the passage of time and the changes of puberty—held little significance for you. You existed in a realm devoid of clocks, yet you fashioned your own sense of time. As someone who merely existed, was life the most challenging experience for you? Despite acquiring knowledge without apparent purpose, did you ever question whether life was truly worth living? It seems you discovered meaning in the minutiae of existence, yet the realization that you lacked a grand purpose felt akin to drowning, as if searching for significance in your writings was like plunging deeper into an ocean without the ability to swim. Your narrative leaves me pondering; I have attempted to conform to societal expectations, which has only led to mental and physical anguish. Now, I strive to embrace my truth, though I remain uncertain of what that entails, merely existing in a state of painful awareness. The suffering feels endless, yet amidst this turmoil, I found beauty in learning from your story, even if you struggle to articulate what that beauty means.
Is it not dreadful to navigate life without a clear understanding of your emotions or experiences? If given the chance, would you choose to be part of my world?
If you had the chance to step into my world, would you embrace it, or would the weight of responsibility deter you? What does it truly mean to exist when life has slipped away? Your reflections on time resonate deeply, particularly the notion that time is defined by the presence of others and the conversations we share. It struck me that the most intriguing aspect of your narrative is the paradox of your existence; in a realm where no one engages with your story, you fade into oblivion, yet in my world, your words continue to breathe life, ensuring your presence endures. You may have never encountered men, but why does that absence hold such significance? Could it be that destiny has cast you as an experiment in this grand tapestry of life?
- Jayce odufuwa
The book I who have never known men makes you wonder so many different possibilities on life and why we exist you should consider reading it. I give this book a 5 star
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Tobefree is still a work in progress for me but I am thinking of putting it on hold so I can actually make it an LLC, you will most likely not see any post on tobefree untill the summer