"Cogito Ergo Sum"- A Philosophical Quest

Or, How Aristotle Managed to Give Me an Existential Crisis Two Thousand Years After His Death Sometimes, recently, I have felt a strange void within me. It is one of those feelings that is impossible to explain. There is everything to do, deadlines waiting, books staring at me with disappointment, assignments pretending to be important, and yet... you feel like doing absolutely nothing. You simply want to sit. To wait. To hope that one miraculous moment will arrive and somehow rearrange your entire life. You wait for that one conversation, that one person, that one experience, or perhaps that one divine intervention that will suddenly make everything make sense. I do not know what is happening. But I know something is definitely wrong. Or perhaps... nothing is wrong at all. Maybe this is simply another chapter of becoming human. Maybe it will pass. Maybe it will change me before it leaves. Now, since my life has already become sufficiently complicated, let us make it even more complica...

Yo Bros, I Am Back… The Philosopher Who Wanted to Argue With God, Metaphysics, and Play in the Sand Really, this last year of philosophy is becoming worse. Not because of studies, not because of assignments, and definitely not because of exams, but because of the language itself. The metaphysical language is enough to make a person question not God, but his own existence. Sometimes I genuinely feel that these subjects were created by people who woke up one morning and asked themselves, “How can we make simple things so complicated that students will begin seeing essence, existence and Being even in their morning tea?” Mission accomplished. I am suffering. We study metaphysics because apparently we want to change our perspectives and understand Being itself. Now tell me honestly, God has existed peacefully for eternity. Who asked us to disturb Him? We are sitting in classrooms saying, “Essence… existence… participation… substance… accident…” while God is probably looking at us and sayin...

  There is a strange phenomenon in human life. The quietest people often become the loudest writers. The people who once struggled to express a single feeling suddenly begin filling notebooks, journals, blogs, and phone notes with words that refuse to stay inside. It is almost funny when you think about it. The same person who could not say “I miss you” directly somehow ends up writing three pages about the weather, the moon, destiny, philosophy, and the meaning of existence—just to avoid admitting that they miss one particular person. Love does that. It turns ordinary people into accidental poets. I have often wondered why this happens. Why does a person who never cared about language suddenly become obsessed with finding the right words? Why does someone who barely passed literature classes start reading poetry at two in the morning? Why does every song suddenly feel personal? Why does every sunset begin to look like a message? Perhaps because love creates a problem that language...

"Some people search for Truth. I think I am searching for something far more dangerous." I am in search of truth. Not the kind of truth that prehistoric philosophers searched for while staring at the stars and wondering why lightning exists. Not the truth that medieval philosophers defended with books thicker than their patience. Not the truth that modern philosophers dissected into theories, systems, arguments, and counterarguments. Not even the truth that contemporary philosophers continue to debate in conferences where everyone speaks for twenty minutes and nobody changes their mind. No. I am searching for a different kind of truth. Truth, which is personal, relational, alive, experiential and that which is the destination which admires the uniqueness of each individual and respects the plurality in the world. Now, some of you may already be preparing your philosophical weapons. "Rohan, truth is truth. How many kinds of truth can there be?" Fair question. But the...