Are the things I do every day really what I want to do? Yesterday, a friend in the group encountered something sad at home, and I felt really sorry for him. When he told me that he felt the world was becoming increasingly dull and that there was nothing to cling to, my first reaction was to say: your existence is the greatest fortune for your family, so you should live well, and when you're feeling down, you must force yourself to go out and meet friends. But afterward, I thought about it, shouldn't we be living for ourselves? Why did I say it was for family? Then I thought again, that's not right. When we truly feel that life is devoid of meaning, we must have some emotional dependence to hold on, and isn't that family and the people who love us around us? I forgot where I read it, but it roughly said: imagine this world as a giant rabbit, and we humans are like fleas hidden in the thick fur of the rabbit, living warm and stable lives. Only a few are willing to climb up; they want to reach the outer layer of the fur to see what this rabbit really is. The world we see is not the world itself; it is the way our brains process it. When we feel that this world is very dull, it is because our perception is locked. You are trapped in a cave, seeing the shadows on the wall and thinking that is all there is to the world. No matter who you are, living inevitably involves bumps and bruises. Try to unlock the shackles of your heart; I think, therefore I am.