I like mathematics. It is clear in my brain because there is always a right answer. A logical explanation. After all, life is just one problematic equation after another. However, very recently for the very first time in my life, I've stumbled upon a problem I cannot solve. And I don't like the feeling, not one bit.
It's not like this problem is something that cannot be comprehended. I have the variables, the input. I have the process. I just don't have the output. That satisfying completion which can only be the result of finding the result.
There is something in all of us that wants that answer, that closure, which puts our minds at rest. Take the example of an unhappy ending of a book or film. A part of us longs for something that satisfies our human selves, to the extent that we devise our own ending to the story. An ending where the protagonist doesn't die; where the heart is not broken; when the child has an idyllic youth. But due to all the contributing factors to our modern civilisation, this is completely irrational thought pattern - bordering on lunacy. It seems we all hang on to that thread of precious fantasy instilled into our psyche from infancy; in which we all have our own happy endings.
To this I say, poppy-cock.
There is no room for idealism in this world. Only cold hard facts will do. And the facts, if you have the stomach to confront them, are not good, to say the least. The causes of cancer can be understood by establishing that millions more people who smoke die of it than a normal healthy person. The foundations of most religions crumble when we observe fossils which date back billions of years. If you fall in love, you inevitably put your emotional self in certain danger of being shattered. This is my world, my rationale, my theory. You can dispute it if you wish, but my way is easy.
Or so I thought.