A guy and his rock taught me how to live.

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Death first came to me on a Friday afternoon, when I was 15, and told me to go meet a guy. Good friends, she and I, as she was/is to a lot of teenagers. If teenagers would spend the time they hang out with Death on cancer research, we may have had a cure by now. But instead, society had/will keep leading youngsters to consider ending it all before their life even began. Anyway, that wasn’t a particularly bad day or anything for me, with the Sun beamed down as it always did in Vietnam, and I probably just finished school. I always think of Death when I finished a school day.

“Come, I’d like you to meet someone.” Death said, her voice excited, like she had finally cracked the code. This will finally stop me from calling out to her, I can see it in her eyes.

“Lead the way, Miss.” She chose to be in her 20s that day.

I have talked about Friedrich Nietzsche twice now, the first briefly about his idea of power dynamics and the second about Hope. I would love to talk about him more, but as mentioned, I do not know much about the man besides some very rudimentary facts and surface level ideas of his philosophy - what little I could gleam from a book. Still, I found myself writing about him, and the words came out easily too. The reasons, if I have to guess, because his thoughts were much similar to a philosopher I know more of, one that I lived and breathed by, that has dictated my world views: The French Existentialist Albert Camus (don’t mind the fact that Camus scorn the word “existentialist,” but he also hated the profession “philosopher.” Lucky he’s not around anymore, so I’m going to call him Existentialist just to mess with him).

Source: Aeneas and the Sibyl in the Underworld by Jan Brueghel the Elder

I opened my eyes to see myself and Death at a hilltop, where several palaces shone in place of the Sun. Being squeamish around body horror, I was afraid Death had taken me here to see the torture porn of the Underworld, in an effort to deter me from committing the crime of taking my own Life.

“Do not be alarmed, you’re miles away from the nearest fire pit.” - She always seem to know what I was thinking, and I gave her a weak nod of gratitude. “Just enjoy the view for now.”

And I sat there and looked, and hoped that I would be sent here when it’s all over.

There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide. Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy. All the rest — whether or not the world has three dimensions, whether the mind has nine or twelve categories — comes afterwards.

Said Camus in The Myth of Sisyphus. Sisyphus, once King of Corinth, cheated Death twice and as a result, was condemned by the Gods to roll a boulder to the top of a mountain. The condition was simple: get that rock to the top, and he’ll be released from Hades forever, effectively granting him immortality.

“Easy enough,” thought Sisyphus. If the Gods think The King of Corinth was all brain with no brawl, he’ll soon prove them wrong.

As the palaces lit up the Underworld, Sisyphus prepared himself for the task that awaited. He clenched his fists, then relaxed them, and for the first time, caress the boulder as if immortality was already his. The surface of the boulder was unwelcoming, cold, making no pretense of its hatred for him. With a deep, shuddering breath, Sisyphus placed his broad shoulder against the colossal stone, and pushed.

I saw Sisyphus that day. As he and the boulder reached the top, it broke in two and rolled down the hill, leaving the man alone.

“Sisyphus, come. I would like you to meet someone.” - Death called out to the man.

“Another one? You think this one can take it?” - He said without turning around.

“I can hope.” - Death answered, putting her hand on my shoulder.

The Myth of Sisyphus discussed Sisyphus and his punishment: being forced to push a boulder up a hill indefinitely, the most futile and dreadful of all punishments. To many, the word “Greek Heroes” consist of Heracles, Jason, Perseus, Odysseus, Theseus or heaps of other -euses. But to Camus, and to myself, no hero better represent the normal man than Sisyphus. Camus notes

He is, as much through his passions as through his torture. His scorn of the gods, his hatred of death, and his passion for life won him that unspeakable penalty in which the whole being is exerted toward accomplishing nothing. This is the price that must be paid for the passions of the earth.

Camus insists that myths such as Sisyphus are metaphors and are designed to stimulate the imagination. In this case, the reader is encouraged to identify with the labor, sweat, and suffering of Sisyphus, all of which seem to be exerted in vain. Yet, is the pushing of the boulder not resembles our 9-to-5? Isn’t Sisyphus’ plight mimicking that of the worker in modern society, who types away at his computer, repeating the same mundane tasks with no apparent purpose.

I see that man going back down with a heavy yet measured step towards the torment of which he will never know the end. That hour like a breathing-space which returns as surely as his suffering, that is the hour of consciousness. At each of those moments when he leaves the heights and gradually sinks towards the lairs of the gods, he is superior to his fate. He is stronger than his rock.

Sisyphus was smiling when he turned to face me, his hand outreached to shake mine. Having heard his tales from Death, I couldn’t help but feel sympathetic toward the hulking man before my eyes. By that time, I’ve spent ten years of my life doing nothing but cramming useless knowledge into my head, all for the name of “good grades” and “getting into a good school.”

“How do you smile, Sir.” - I couldn’t help myself, the words just slipped out, along with the tears.

“Friend, I have met many a student such as yourself, courtesy of Lady Death, and they would always ask the same question.” - He held my hand firmly, a grasp of understanding. “Truth is, when I was pushing that rock, I wasn’t smiling at all. Think of that rock as your life. With every step, I needed to put a tremendous amount of effort and discipline, so I had very little time to think of the predicament I was in. But when I am here, friend…” - He pointed at the vast landscape, at the palaces, at Death.

Camus's point is that Sisyphus is most conscious of the nature of his Life during his rest upon that hilltop, and his descent to retrieve the rock. When he is rolling the boulder up the mountain, he was a slave to his destiny. But in his descent, he is free, to contemplate Life, to react to the absurdity that is Life. Life is hard, and it always will be. Life isn’t fair or unfair, it is. Take a die and roll it. You can get 1 ten times in a row. That’s the perfect representation of life. You might think “getting ten 1s in a row is absurd!” It is, to the human mind who take coincidences as signs, as values. To Life, it’s just the way it is.

“So, what you’re saying is, when I learned to accept that Life is absurd, I can learn to love it?”

“Love it, hate it, adore it, scorn it, these are all the emotions you are free to choose. It sure doesn’t lead to happiness, but it’s a sign that you’re a living breathing human being. Don’t buy into that “you’re living, but are you alive” crap. Envy not the man who wakes up everyday to riches, for he has not known Life. The man that knows the meaningless of Life, and yet delve headfirst into her bosom, is the man that is fully alive.”

I don’t think I understood Sisyphus that well, nor Camus for that matter. Their words, however, did trigger in me the belief I needed to continue living: Life is difficult. It’s difficult to wake up early every morning and work your ass off, only to receive very little in the end. It’s difficult to be hungry, to feel ashamed for not being able to feed your family. It’s difficult to look at other people’s success and know you will never reach that. And yet, these difficulties a Life made. The office job will give you the experience of boredom you will never gain anywhere else. Remember that moment after a long day of work, where you finally get to lie on your bed. Remember when you finally could afford a meal. Remember when you look at yourself, for living despite the difficulties. Remember yourself happy.