Waiting for Meaning While the Days Refuse to End !
Hermeneutics, Headaches, Hope, and My Mother’s Food Some days feel like footnotes. Not chapters. Not even paragraphs. Just footnotes at the bottom of an already exhausting page of life. These are those days. Exams on the head. Philosophy in the veins. Coffee pretending to be hope. And time—time doing what it does best: passing painfully slowly . I am overburdened, not just with syllabi but with meaning itself . Because once you study hermeneutics, nothing remains innocent—not texts, not people, not even your own silence. Hermeneutics: Or, How Understanding Became a Burden Let’s begin where the headache begins. Schleiermacher politely told us: “To understand a text is to understand the author better than he understood himself.” Great. As if understanding myself wasn’t already difficult. Now I’m supposed to emotionally stalk dead authors too? Then came Dilthey , who said life must be understood from within lived experience . Suddenly philosophy stopped being abstract and star...