Why do we have to waste time? (Personal Essay)

I was walking in the midst of the rain. I have an umbrella but I didn’t use it. I let the wintry droplets of rain fogged my glasses instead. I continue to walk half-blinded by these droplets as well as by the people passing back and forth around me.
I didn’t care. I was intoxicated by the rain and the adrenaline that envelops me. And as I keep pace with the rushing crowd, something struck me. It was an epiphany that I didn’t really know what I’m doing or where I’m going.

As told by Murakami, “In a hundred years, everybody here – me included – will have disappeared from the face of the Earth and turned into ashes or dust. A weird thought, but everything in front of me starts to seem unreal, like a gust of wind could blow it away.” And indeed, despite the absence of the wind, I was suddenly blown away by surrealism that surrounded me.
I started to question about the reality that I come to believe, the things that my senses can perceive. I questioned my own existence, whether I really exists or I’m just a figment of someone else’s imagination. Do I really have a hold on my own life or I’m some kind of string-operated puppet that’s been used and manipulated over and over again to entertain my operator’s audience?
If I’m not, why do I feel like one? Why do I feel like I’m living my life for everybody else but me? Why do I feel like I’m trying so hard to be liked when all I really want is to be myself?
Why do I have to follow other people’s track when I can build my own? Why do I have to go to the same path when I have my own destination to explore? Why do I feel like I’m being dragged to a path away from the dreams I’ve always long for?
And what do dreams mean by the way? Do we build them or were they build by other people for us? If so, why do we allow them?
And who are these people, anyway? Why does it feel like we owe more than half of our lives to them? Why do we care so much?
What’s the sense of all of these? What’s my purpose? Am I breathing for me or am I breathing for everybody else?
There’s too many questions to ask but too little time to answer. There’s too many things to dream but too little time to achieve. There’s too many beautiful things to see but too little time to live.
Too little time and too little mistakes. Too little time and too many efforts overlooked. Too little time yet most of them are wasted.
Why are we wasting time when we know that it’s too little? Why do we spend it on the tedious tasks that we hate? Why do we have to waste it on people who tries to control our fate?
I don’t know the answer. You see, my glasses were fogged. I’m half-blinded, by people, by my own uncertain fate, even by my own dreams.