If one accepts the theories of modern science - that for all our human complexity in cognition and emotion, we are merely medium-sized aggregations of matter, slowly organised by natural evolutionary processes to look and function as we do and interact with other similar lumps of matter.

Then one faces the consequence of not having any pre-defined meaning to one's existence, and is left with the burden of defining one's very own purpose. What a heavy responsibity to shoulder!

How did I get involved in this big enterprise called actuality? Why should I be involved? Isn't it a matter of choice? And if I am compelled to be involved, where is the manager—I have something to say about this. Is there no manager? To whom shall I make my complaint?

- Kierkegaard, Repetition

And then dawns the fact that one is an impossibly minute entity insignificant to the greater scheme of things. Except the fact that maybe there isn't such a scheme after all, because it's left to us to create.

And then what comes next. How do you pick choices in life when what is right and wrong is so subjective, and Kant's moral imperatives just don't seem to cut it?

Sigh. Too much to read and too little time to understand. Should one even bother? I don't know whether to pick the red or blue pill.