In a recent discussion someone asked why should we bother over things such as trying to know ourselves better?  In turn he was asked, what is more important in life than attaining self-knowledge, knowing oneself?  I could not agree more.  

Yes, there are many things in life to devote oneself to, such as getting an education, having a career and earning a decent salary, raising a family and hopefully being a person of some use to society.  As a matter of fact, I’m sure for a lot of people simply trying to get by in a highly competitive and challenging world, is already a difficult enough task they have to face in their lives without having to ask a question whose answer is as elusive as the question itself.
But the question must be asked.  ‘Who am I’ and ‘Why am I in this world?’  Questions whose answers would lead one to the quest of finding one self and achieving self-knowledge.  Without pausing to ask these fundamental questions about our existence, life could only be shallow, lived on the superficial level, like taking part in a school play and yet not knowing what role you have to play.  

Worse.  You don’t even realise you’re in a play, thinking that the role is your true self.  That the play on the stage is your life.  You have no idea who you really are, let alone who the author of the drama is.  Stay on the stage long enough, sooner or later you will feel that there is something incomplete about your character, something odd and aimless, something missing.  

One of the hardest things in life that we must do is to say goodbye and to let go, whether to people, situation or even things.  When we’re happy, the happiness is often tinged with sadness because we know that the moment will not last, and already we’re thinking of how much we will regret losing that feeling.

When I was a child I had a particularly sensitive nature when it came to the idea of loss, something that may be older folk would be more familiar with as they are a lot more prone to pangs of nostalgia than younger people.  For instance, I remember vividly when I was around seven or eight years old, my mother reprinted some old photos that I had not seen before to stick in a photo album.  Some had photos of me as a toddler.

Instead of being amused by the baby pictures, I was filled with an enormous sense of sadness so much so I actually shed tears copiously.  The reason was, I could not recollect any of the moments captured in the photos and I was filled with regret there was a part of my life that I lost forever, even as I did not have any memory of it.  Once upon a time, I was a little child, and now that child was gone.  I was already a big girl.