Sometimes I wonder, when one asks the ancient question, “What’s the purpose of life,” he doesn’t really want the answer.
Oftentimes, he’s just complaining about how life sucks at that moment--I want this but I can’t get it; I don’t want this but I’m stuck in it. When he finally gets over whatever it is, he will be happy again, and will not bother to think about the question for even one second--until the next disaster happens, that is.
Maybe there really is no meaning in living a life like many do--studying a major that you don’t like, doing a job that you absolutely hate, and marrying someone you don’t even love.
In that sense, I’m probably luckier than most people are.
I have my purpose of life. And I love it. :P