Sunday Morning

Have you experienced waking up in the morning and asking yourself, “Why am I still alive”?

I feel this way every Sunday morning, except mornings in my parents’ house. I wake up and ask silly questions on my head. Why do I work so hard? Why do I have to work? Why do I have to succeed?What is the measurement of success? On my efforts of improving my life, is it necessary? Why do I demand too much of myself? What are my plans? Do I really have to plan? What are my goals for? Why do I have to accomplish something? What is the end goal of everything I do? Why can’t I just be contented with love and simple life? Why do I want to make my life complicated? Am I happy?What is the measurement of happiness? Will this make me happy?

These random thoughts haunt me every Sunday morning. It’s like a session of Purpose Driven Life. It’s like a tiny Jacklyn shouting at my head , “There is something wrong. There is something missing.” I suddenly feel incomplete. I miss the comforts of my home. I miss my family. I miss waking up in a place where I know I am loved and cared for. I have lived all by myself for almost five years but I entertain the feeling of homesickness every Sunday morning. It’s not about being homesick. It is the feeling of uncertainty that causes unfathomable sorrow.

As weekdays go on, my life follows a must-to-do list. But it is during Sunday morning, that I wonder why I restlessly think of controlling my life. Like King Solomon, I share the same sentiment.“Yet when I surveyed all that my hands had done and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind; nothing was gained under the sun.” Ecclesiastes 2:11

And here I am writing non-lucid thoughts hoping that I am not alone. Just a survey to comfort me, “Was there a time that you woke up and asked yourself, “Why are you still alive?”