"Why?"

I was asked at the gate of eternity because I refused to be reincarnated.

The veiled being before me clearly didn't understand life. This gigantic existence that had never had time to wait and wonder about the reason for being, couldn't possibly comprehend what the end looks like.

Is it a pity when a human dies?

Only when it's at the dawn of something big.

I'm compelled to agree with that logic, though I cannot help but nurture my doubts. The veiled being only demanded answers, but I stood speechless before it.

Why is it that some lives are able to find meaning while others cannot? If people truly get reincarnated, then why do they sometimes fail to see meaning in life? Is it not because some lives are created without any reason? And if so, why should one wish to be reincarnated?

The white-veiled being could not, of course, answer such questions.

Without meaning, one only wanders—a hollow existence, a life without any essence. Existence tires itself out and constantly tries to extinguish itself, but the sickle is not held by the hand of life. And try as one might, we are not given the choice to cut ourselves loose.

Why, then, was such a circle created to begin with?

"Would you prefer it if I were reincarnated, sir?", I asked, not wanting to displease the veiled being, as ignorant as it may have been.

"That would certainly save a lot of paperwork", he answered very candidly.

I paused to think it over for a few seconds and he was patient enough to keep his books open and not deliver a verdict immediately.

"If you can help me, then I will help you and choose reincarnation", I said.

He looked at me suspiciously, though I couldn't be sure because he was completely veiled.

"Let me hear it", he answered cautiously.

"Tell me the reason for my next life", I said boldly.

He paused for a short while.

"I'm not at liberty to say it, though I'm not bound not to say it either", he nodded to himself, "Very well, I shall tell you what I can. In truth, all lives have the same reason."

"What is that reason?", I asked.

"To find a reason for being."

I'm sure he thought he'd outsmarted me so very tremendously that I could only roll over and cry the bitter tears that are the fate of all humans in existence. But I wasn't even remotely impressed. I only glared at him, unamused.

"If it is a cycle with no answer, I do not wish to get reincarnated", I said, having no problem turning him down altogether.

The being sat silently on his golden throne, behind the giant ticket box.

“You little life, realize where you stand. This is the very last frontier. That golden gate you see in the distance has not been opened in billions of years. All life returns to the world it came from, metamorphosed into a completely new existence. But the universe is created in preservation. You cannot end a life. Should you choose not to be reincarnated, what do you think will happen?”

A critical question that the being had asked, and I was to answer it carefully. I knew that the right answer made all the difference in that moment.

"I don't believe there is anything beyond that door", I pointed towards the said gate of eternity.

The being turned around to look at it briefly and then turned back to me, with an almost grim silence.

"You believe nothing is beyond that? Do you think this is all there is?", he looked about him as if he thought the place was very small.

"Yes", I answered without a smidgen of doubt.

"And what makes you say so?"

"Because you're all I see, and likely anyone that's ever been here. If you always reincarnate them, then it must be because nothing is beyond that door."

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The logic itself was sound, but it wasn't something that couldn't be refuted. The being silently stared at me as if wondering where to go from here.

"Did you make us?", I asked finally.

"What do you think?"

"I don't", I shook my head.

"I didn't create you, little human. I am but a mere watchman, you see. The law has only been passed to me in this book I have here. And I do nothing but follow the decrees as they are stated", he pointed towards the very thick book before him.

"Why were we made in a cycle?", I asked.

"I only know that which I'm told."

I glared at the being. Now that it was taking such a tone with me, I knew the answer meant nothing anymore. In fact, I was out of time. The decision needed to be made right away.

"Will you repeat your question?", I asked after a moment of silence.

"Little human, do you wish to be reincarnated or cast into oblivion?"

I stared at him blankly.

"That is not what you asked earlier", I pouted.

"This is what I ask now", the being answered coolly.

“I will have to reconsider everything again,” I replied, realizing it could take a long time before any final decision could be made.

And yet, I stood on clouds that stretched endlessly around and above me, beneath a blue sky extending infinitely toward another great beyond. Other than the golden gate of eternity just a few paces away and the ticket box where the being resided, nothing else captured my attention.

The being sat patiently, waiting for my answer as he flitted through the pages of his giant book. Perhaps he was searching for the exact protocol to be carried out in this condition.

"What is oblivion like?", I asked.

"Like nothing at all. You will not feel it."

"Then I will choose oblivion."

"Why?"

I sighed, "If I were to choose reincarnation, would you ask me why?"

"No", the being answered honestly.

I frowned, glaring at him, but he didn’t seem bothered by it.

"You're very biased for a watchman", I said, pouting still.

"The choice is ultimately yours. I only lend compassion while I can", he replied, still much too absorbed in his book.

Compassion, as he called it, was his idea of giving humans more chances at life so they could finally find their reason for being. No such thing, I surmised, truly existed, considering he gave them unlimited chances to choose things one way or the other.

Then again, how could such a being, who sat on a golden throne and only spoke from the decrees handed down to him, know anything about the human condition? He didn't even create humans; he really must be clueless.

Why had I died, for instance? Not how, but why. Surely, if he were such a benevolent existence, he would spare the ignorant little humans from dying altogether. Why dabble in such a meaningless cycle of give and take? No, the being wouldn't answer any of my questions even if I were to ask.

Was there really no way for me to find an answer? After having lived for so many years, quite possibly many times, I had finally reached this point, the highest among all the points so far. And if such a place could not give me the answer, then indeed, I decided I would stand here until I was cast into oblivion.

"Can you simplify a matter for me? Surely, your book would have something regarding that", I asked.

He gazed at me questioningly, though I couldn't tell through his veil.

"Is life created to find this reason? Or is it the reason for being that eventually begets life?", I asked after a slight pause.

I suppose the question made an impression on him. For a while, he forgot all about his book and stared emptily at me, thinking about the right answer to my question.

I didn't realize the intensity with which the being was tackling this dilemma. He sat with his legs crossed, and I caught a glimpse of his suit. It was undoubtedly a black office suit. What a diplomat this one! I thought to myself.

The veil, more a blanket that covered him from head to toe like a ghost with no eyes, obstructed most of his expressions. But from the sound of it, I could tell that he was really considering my question. I suppose he didn't want to give the wrong answer to this one.

I stood blank, waiting for the answer for quite a while before he pulled a crystal ashtray closer, clicked his tongue in frustration, and began lighting up a cigarette.

“What in damnation,” I thought. Even heaven has these lousy bureaucrats; no wonder we’re doomed.

He smoked through the veil. Any and all smoke was trapped inside it, or perhaps it simply didn’t exist. He went on and smoked three more before slapping his knee and leaning into the window.

"It has to be life, doesn't it? You live, and then you look for a reason. And if you're lucky, you'll find it", he answered, and I thought he wasn't very smart.

Why would he need to be? After all, the book had all the answers. He'd never had to think about anything so far.

"Luck has nothing to do with it, does it? If you keep reincarnating people, they'll find it one way or the other. Or rather, they'll realize it. The only reason you should be reincarnating people is because they haven't fulfilled the purpose that they were given that life for. If they do find it and fulfill it, why would you go on reincarnating them? From then on, wouldn't their life really be meaningless?", I was irritated by his answer after having waited so long.

"You make a good point. That's a nice theory indeed, little human."

I stomped my feet, "Well, what now?!"

He stared at me, "Must you be so impatient? Realize, little life, that you're one of the billions of little ones I have to deal with today. And today never ends here. So I can go on for all eternity. You're welcome to join me inside this box if you don't want to be reincarnated. Perhaps, seeing your fellow little humans jumping at the chance of being reborn will change your mind."

"That's what I'm asking! Why are you so bent on the idea of reincarnation? Why can you not cast me into oblivion?", I had lost my touch of patience.

"Why, you ask, little one. But tell me this—have you found your reason for being? Why did you live? Do you think you've been reincarnated before?"

I fell silent.

"Four thousand three hundred and seventeen times, little one", he read from the book.

My eyes widened, and I stood still.

"And not once, in all those lives, have you come across your reason for being. Shall I cast you into oblivion, for you are such a meaningless existence? Is there any life that is meaningless? That is the task I have been assigned to find out. And in hopes that this task of mine shall never see completion, I continue to reincarnate beings like you. In all your lives—as a human, a bird, a whale, a cloud—I have waited for you to find it."

"Wh...what are you...?", I stood numb, my finger tips cold, my eyes burning.

"Little life, no life is without a reason. That is what I profess, and I shall continue to profess it till the end of all life. That is the compassion I lend, but only while I can", he spoke gently.

"But...why?", I asked, lost.

Why had this benevolent being not given up on me in those 4000 lives? Even if one doesn't find the reason of being, isn't living a happy life good enough? Had I never, in all those lives, been truly happy?

He sifted through the pages, pausing at one, and leaned closer to read it aloud.

"It is December, 26th.

You died two years ago.

After Christmas dinner, you promised your mother you'll stop cutting your hair. Your mother hugged you and kissed your face. You smiled at her. She told you she was happy to hear it.

That night, you decided you won't cut yourself anymore.

You hung yourself to the bathroom door with an old belt from your middle school. Your music player played Moonlit Sonata on repeat. Only one of your ear plugs worked.

You were discovered in the morning by your sister, who screamed at the sight of you.

The next one to see you was your father and he carried your sister away. You hung there alone until your father explained everything to your family.

Your mother trembled as she walked up the stairs towards your room. She only took a peek into the room before collapsing.

Your father and brother carried you to your bed. You lay in your bed alone with the window open for an hour before the police arrived.

You didn't leave a note behind.

Your death was ruled a suicide. Your body was taken to the morgue.

You were put in a freezer, in wait for the spring when the ground is soft and a grave can be dug.

Your father visited every day for a week. You never saw your mother again.

Your journal was discovered on March 19th, your 17th birthday.

You wrote: "I'm starting this journal because I fear I might kill myself. In truth, not one good thing has happened to me in all my life."

You wrote that you were homeless. You never belonged anywhere. No one ever understood you. Your intentions were always misinterpreted. You felt alone. You hated yourself. You hated life. You failed to take your life twice before the time you died.

Your brother cried after reading your journal. You left letters to your friends. But your brother burned everything.

You were buried in spring. Your father attended your funeral.

You lost your way towards heaven. You sat on your gravestone until winter. A messenger delivered you your train ticket on December 3rd. No one visited your grave in that time.

You left the world on December 26th.

Welcome to your final station. The waiting's room just over to the left. The train'll be here soon."