"AHH! Life is not fair."

Lance, a man in his early twenties who dropped out of university, lives alone in poverty. Every day, he wonders why he's the one suffering, why others have opportunities he'll never see.

"Why am I so unlucky? Does God hate me?"

He sighs, trying to silence his thoughts. I have work tomorrow. I should just sleep.

The next day, he wakes up to the reality of another 12-hour shift. "What a beautiful day to work," he mutters sarcastically. My life is cursed.

If only I'd had the willpower or a goal back then, he thinks. I could have stayed in school. Now, at 20, he lives far from his parents, who still think he's studying. But he works for a black company that pays him scraps.

After his shift, he stares at his dinner—instant ramen. "Well, this is my food for today, I guess," he mumbles, taking a bite. If I had one chance to change everything, to find the will to do something different… He shakes his head. Quit dreaming, Lance. Just sleep. The cycle repeats.

The next morning, he finds an email from an unknown sender. The message has two strange questions:

"What do you think the meaning of life is?"

"What is your purpose?"

Confused, Lance stares at the screen. What? The meaning of life? My purpose?

"Oh crap, I'm late," he says, rushing out the door. But all day at work, he can't stop thinking about the questions. What is the meaning of life? he wonders. If it's to be happy, then I've failed. These last five years have been the worst. And purpose? Why does there need to be one?

After his shift, Lance's thoughts spiral. I'm unlucky. I have no friends, no purpose. I'm just… existing. He shakes his head, feeling drained. Thinking about this is too depressing. I should sleep.

The next morning, another email appears:

"How can you define the meaning of life? If you stopped existing, would the world still turn? Yes. Would the world care about your suffering? No. The path to meaning is to create it yourself."

"To find purpose, first, do nothing."

Lance raises an eyebrow. Do nothing? What does that even mean?

The message continues, "We're so distracted by work, by sadness, that we lose connection with ourselves. Sit in a quiet corner and do nothing for a while. You'll find the best advice there."

At the end of the message is a shocking line: "And here's some money to help—use it wisely."

Attached is a transfer of one million.

Lance stares, stunned. Who is this Messenger? A friend from university? No, I didn't have friends… Is he some kind of god?

After a moment, he decides to take the advice, settling himself in a corner of his small room. For half an hour, he stares at the wall, memories flashing through his mind—his struggles, the constant feeling of failure. And then a thought hits him. The world doesn't care about my suffering. I'm the one living this life… so why am I making it harder for myself?

He mutters, "Am I… am I the one making life unfair?"

A strange clarity washes over him. The Messenger was right.

In that moment, Lance feels something he's never felt before: connection with his own voice, free from outside demands. He remembers everyone who told him how to live—get a job, study harder, conform. But the truth is, I have to create my own purpose.

He stands up, breathing deeply. What have I been doing with my life?