I remember there was a time in university when I felt very disheartened. For some unknown reason, I began to tire of the lessons that I once loved. I no longer felt motivated to quench the thirst for knowledge that I once had. There were days when the world felt bleary, dank, messed-up. Like “I-got-off-from-the-wrong-side-of-the-bed-the-cat-ate-my-socks-I’m-having-a-bad-hair-day” kind of messed-up, only worse.
It got to the point when I couldn’t take in what my lecturers were saying anymore. I didn’t understand what went on in classes. It got to the point when I started to question my own existence. I didn’t understand what meaning there was to my life. It got to the point when I could see no point.
Objective reality felt too far away from me. The world with its ontological premises alienated me. Linguistic relativism left big gaping question marks for me. Too much linguistics and philosophy does that to me, I suppose.
If a tree falls down in a forest, and nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound?