I have been living for eighteen years, a month and roughly half of it now, I was never curious as to when I would probably die, but rather as to what have I done exactly at my first ten years of my life. I don’t know, and I never remember.

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                Living is practically waking up and doing almost the same thing again and again, making this and that, working hard to achieve something, and entirely a lot less of a bore when something comes out to be a challenge; something for some people would have coined the term “purpose”. However, most might deemed it rather luck for having been able to found one, leaving them literally think of nothing as they teetered back and forth from the words ‘wants’ and ‘needs’.

                Purpose differs from both; the proximity of the necessary steps to be taken to achieve the threesome all at once may be tenuous but it is profoundly different thing at all; much less than one is different from anybody as similar as oneself. To take the ball from the opponent may be a basketball’s want; to shoot and score may be his need; but to win the game is his purpose. All of them had a paramount need of agility, stamina and the courage of the player, all of them would have failed without it. Purpose is more than having been able to live up, more than possessing something priceless, it is more than the hardest and dangerous tasks one would want to make.

                Purpose is a gift long been given, but it is one’s own decision to receive it.

---ArtP