My mind is constantly updating a list of Dos and Don't s in relationships. What stumps me more than the 'meaning of life', is the complexities of relationships. Probably because I believe that no matter what lies beyond now, what is truly important is what lies within the now. It is the experiences we have had, people we have met and the thoughts we have entertained that truly make up our lives. And all these factors lead to one outcome. Relationships. Some we can choose to be in, most we cannot. But everything that we can call life in tangible terms stems from, leads to, is made up of and ends with relationships.

A baby's relationship with the womb signifies the start of life. A man's relationship with a woman, a husband's relationship with his wife, a mother's relationship with her daughter, teacher's relationship with the pupil, an employer's relationship with his employees, man's relationship with money, nature's relationship with all things living and otherwise, the universes' relationship with energy; life defines relationships and relationships define life.
As I sit here and type, I realise how my entire being is a result of relationships; ironically, the one I am a result of, I wasnt even aware of.

There is but one truth of my life which is that the people in my life make me. Many would consider that a sign of weakness or simply having no identity of my own. I differ. I am proud to be a product of various influences in my life. It has been replete with warm, interesting, diverse, strange, wonderful and loving people. I am so kicked about the 21 years of life that have led me that I cannot wait to lead the next 40.

A poem that comes a little close to describing how I feel after losing my dad.

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

   -- W.H. Auden