We, the forgetful

I am often intrigued, saddened, worried, by the human “natural” forgetful nature. Since the beginning of time, we haven’t kept memories of lost, gone ones. Did any of you remember –or even knew of– your great-grandparents? How many generations do you have knowledge of? When you are gone, how many years will you be remembered? Why do we forget? Why? What can we do to change that? Going through a life of accomplishments –or lack of, it doesn’t matter– and ending up in the void. Isn’t it sad?

Sometimes I wish we knew the real meaning of life. But I am afraid, afraid we will find there is none. And afraid is just a figurative word; I can’t come up with a word, when there is not a certain knowledge of an emotion to attach it to.

As for this post, don’t worry. I am not feeling down, I just keep thinking.