The idea of free will has always been puzzling.

I can raise my arm right now, or I could leave it down. I feel like I am in control, but no matter what I choose, I would have chosen the exact same option regardless. Rewind the clock, and my arm will still be at my side.

But, you say, I do control my arm! My brain decides when to signal to my motor neurons to raise or lower my arm. Isn't that basically free will?

Well, what controls your brain? It's your other neurons, all of which follow a predictable physical process of activation. There is no spontaneity, no true will. Everything you do is a function of your current mental state and your environment, both of which are entirely predictable on the macroscopic level. And even if take into account quantum effects, all you are doing is surrendering yourself to complete randomness.

Which certainly doesn't sound like free will.

Free will only makes sense if you accept that humans are necessarily temporal beings. Even if you can only follow one path at any one instance of time, over time, you can raise or lower your arm however you want whenever you want. Now that starts to resemble free will.

But what if you take the story of your entire existence as one singular snapshot? All of your arm raising and arm lowering, which you did over time under the illusion of "free will," suddenly loses all of its freedom and collapses once again to the laws of causation.

But maybe that's why we experience the arrow of time. Perhaps we are beings that have free will, and the only way for free will to exist is by having time slowly unravel.

And as far as we know, time does just slowly unravel. It doesn't jump all over the place or skip forward, even if it feels like that sometimes. So rest assured: you do have free will. That should be an empowering feeling.

I feel like this all the time. I'm trying to get something done, an essay written. But instead of typing, I sit there, staring at the blank screen, paralyzed. I don't have a train of thought, words don't make sense, and I don't know what I'm trying to say.

So I chew at my nails. My phone feels irresistible in my pocket, calling to me like a siren.

The only way for me to not give in to the temptation is to give up on my task and just lean back in my chair. As far as it will go. And I will sit there, awash in dread. Sometimes, after a few minutes of sitting there, a sense of peace enters my mind and I start floating on the sea of tranquility.

Christmas. A festival of light amid the darkest days of the year. We try to push away the dark and bitter cold by surrounding ourselves with light. Hundreds of thousands of years ago, that’s how we made it through the night. Today, that’s still how we make it through the night. Christmas is a time of togetherness, with our own sources of light: our families, our friends, and our special others. Two years ago, I went out with my friends the night after Christmas, and today, it is still one of my fondest memories. No wonder why Christmas music is always so cozy and welcoming.

Christmas. A realization of childish joy and fascination. Do you remember staying up late in the living room, with the Christmas tree all light-up and looking spectacular, trying to catch a glimpse of Santa Claus? I do. Our tree was so small that we had to prop it up on a table so there was enough room for the gifts. And the entire time, a question was nagging at the back of my mind: how was Santa going to get in if we didn’t have a chimney?

Christmas. An embrace of the little things. Time normally passes too quickly to fully appreciate our fortunes. That’s why Christmas is a time of gift-giving. Gratitude only becomes real when we take the heart to reflect and pay it back. Like gift-giving, we have other rituals that bring comfort. It takes time to put up the lights, set up the tree, and meticulously hang each and every ornament in its right place. Walking through the neighborhood or entering the living room, seeing those lights shimmering like stars and snowflakes, makes the moment real. As ambitions soar and I mature, it’s becoming more important to remind myself to slow down and enjoy the view.

Christmas. A holiday that means so much to so many people. Yet, everything I have said only applies to the Northern Hemisphere. For those in the South, where the moon shines upside-down and cyclones rotate backward, Christmas has a whole other meaning.

Nobody knows who I am. To be more specific, I know nobody who knows who I am. My dearest friends- and you know who you are - know much more about the real me than many others. I hardly know who I am myself, and I'm not sure if I really want to.

There's the me on the outside- a somewhat cheerful, eyebrow raising and only slightly questionable person. A simple member of society. Perhaps slightly depressed as well- ah, must be just going through a phase.

I try too hard to stay in that character. I feel as if my other self is inappropriate, dark, disgusting. I try oh so very hard to tuck the other persona away- from myself even.

It's stressful and tiring. I make fun of depression only to try to distract myself from depression. I am what I try the most not to be.

The other side of me

the cancerous

the ugly

The more I think about it, the more I try not to think about it. Why am I depressed?

Fuck, I know.

God damn it fuck shit holy hell

ah, there we go.

I contemplate suicide occasionally- not entirely out of the ordinary, but the part that disturbs people is what's holding me back.

Save it for a better time

Afraid of the pain

I can't be that selfish

But this isn't about suicide

Yes it is.

what's the point of living? this can't be the first time that question has arisen, but probably the first time you realize that you don't have a good answer.

Fuck.

When I meet someone nice, and I like them

They get to know the outside me- the not me.

I start trusting the person.

What a fool I am

Now they only know about the very surface of me.

The me that's really me

The me they didn't know before

I start to cower away- I truly love them so I try to shield them.

I try to protect them from me.

Fuck I'm selfless

This is the internet right?

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

Once upon a time, I used to understand what it meant to be happy.

Once upon a time, sadness was alien.

Once upon a time, I thought of myself as depressed. I laugh.

Once upon a time, I had a name.

Once upon a time, I felt a point in living.

Now, happy means no more than 5 letters.

Now, true happiness only reaches me through my dreams

Now, I laugh. I would gladly give anything to just go back in time.

Now, I am a multi-faceted figure- too much to be known in just 1 word.

Now, living is a chore.