#Destiny

A calling is a magical phrase masquerading as self-fulfillment, granting comfort to others but condemning the bearer to endless self-sacrifice. It is a phantom map promising worldly recognition, while in truth deepening the chasm between "what one wants to do" and "what one can do." Noumenally revered as a sacred narrative, it secretly fetters life choices and erases escape routes. Ultimately, proclaiming "I’ve found my calling" becomes an eternal ritual to justify one’s own decisions.

Destiny is the haughty playwright that glances at human choices and efforts only to ignore them, entrusting everything to a cosmic script. People find comfort in accepting suffering and shelving joys, using it as an excuse. Even though the ending is fixed, playing out the roles highlights the absurdity of human existence. Ironically, destiny serves as the grand disguise for advocates of free will.

The future is a box designed to store all the deadline-induced anxieties that humanity has yet to pay for. It was engineered without a key, so every time you open it, new worries spill out. A chaos of promises, predictions, and countless expectations under the guise of time. Yet it is also a blurred mirage called hope, too alluring to ignore. Humans chase it like treasure even though it vanishes upon approach.