Nothingness

On our way back from her music and gymnastics classes, "The Scientist" was playing, so I abruptly asked my almost six-year-old daughter: "Do you wanna grow up to be a scientist or a lawyer, or anything else that you wanna be?" "I want to grow up to be nothing." "What?!" "Ya, I think I am really going to do nothing, just like you." 

Ya right, I need not go to the office, do not receive any material compensation in exchange for whatever sort of work I do, I get it, no matter how many times I told them "mommy is a writer, or at least 'a writer to be', or 'a writer in the making'", and no matter how many times I told them to give me a little space and time so I can write, it won't register. My writing business is never legit to them. 

What can I tell her? "In this illusory reality which consists of the 'space and time' that we are only capable of perceiving, how do you know going to the office every day is 'something' but dreaming about the cosmos and staring into space is 'nothing'?" or "With the branded substances we dug out from the earth or robbed from our animal fellows, with our ever-growing and never-satisfiable thirst to comfort and luxure, plus our ignorance and selfishness which are the two most essential traits reside in us, slowly we all are sinking. How are you going to convince me that we are not being punished by being trapped inside the physical forms in the earthy definition of the universe? And tell me why being the one who not only possesses the will as well as the ability to break off from such reality and seek truth beyond deception should be labeled as 'nothing'?"    

But who the fuck do I think I am right? I have a whole universe of imaginary shit, I have different universes colliding with each other and I have layers of worlds filled with conflicts, however, might or might not have I the leisure to write them out. Maybe after say five years the books are printed and bound, but most probably besides family and friends who would keep a copy that they will never open on their bookshelves, no one else would care. 

So I just replied to the sweet baby girl of mine: "Chalo, you are entitled to your thoughts. And mind that, your thoughts, our thoughts, maybe they are the most vital existence of us."