I constantly busy myself with the absurd normalities of life. I fill my thoughts with minor insecurities, constantly worrying about the minute details. Then once in a while I am confronted with some of the harsh realities I avoid facing by occupying myself with what we call life; you know' hair appointments, education, shopping, parties and every once in a while church. When it is someone's death, even that of a distant relation or friend, its is brutal, almost painful. For me when I am wrenched from civilization, unable to communicate with anyone via telephone or internet, the big questions begin to surface.
What is my life really about?
Have I so far led a purposeful existence?
Am I wanted?
Am I loved?
Would I be missed?