A001: Creating to Combat Nihilism

White Writing / Life

Whenever I find myself with free time, I instinctively reach for my phone or start playing games—only to sink into a void afterward: Another day spent online, accomplishing nothing. This is how every day goes. What is the meaning of my existence?

Recently, I came up with an idea: fighting emptiness through creation. When I fully immerse myself in writing, studying, editing podcasts—or even just when I’m actively thinking, feeling, and preparing to create—this process fills me with a sense of fulfillment, and the results bring me pride.

I deeply admire a classmate of mine. One day, he resolved to publish one WeChat Official Account article every single day—and he has never missed a day since. Through this journey, I’ve witnessed his growth; walking alongside him, I’ve also come to appreciate the importance of documentation: Without creation, I fall into emptiness in the present; without documentation, the past itself falls silent.

In several recent conversations with my girlfriend, I was startled to realize how many details I’d forgotten—while she, thanks to her journaling habit, could revisit and relive those moments again and again. It saddened me deeply. Memory is each person’s most precious treasure, because our bodies and minds are the only things truly within our grasp.

I used to think: If experiences fade from memory later, then they must not matter. But now I no longer believe that. Some experiences may happen only once in a lifetime—if forgotten, they’re gone forever. I don’t wish to dwell obsessively on the past; rather, I hope that, when I look back on my youth in the future, I’ll have stories worth telling my children—and, more importantly, I’ll have left myself some spiritual “candies” to savor endlessly.

So, starting today, I resolve to write something every day. I know full well I don’t have much that’s polished or impressive to offer—I’m self-aware enough to admit I’m a lazy dog who fishes for three days and dries his nets for two. Therefore, what I write will meet just two criteria:

  • It should either enhance others’ knowledge or adjust their emotional state.
  • On days when I’m truly too lazy to write original content, I’ll simply excerpt a passage or share an episode of a podcast—offering information sourced from beyond myself.

In Ao Ai’s The Endless Game, in its final chapter, General Takasami constructs, using the only materials he can still control, a tiny world—then gradually expands his domain (existence) into his opponent’s world (emptiness).

I hope that, going forward, I too can expand my own domain—little by little—through creation.