There’s a lot of pain in life. More so than I could even begin to comprehend. I try to hide myself from it, or I’ve always been hidden; either way, when I am approached by that teeming monster, I learn a great deal about who I am. I don’t think it’s the event that pains us really, but the idea of our own misfortune, or of others’ misfortune, that consumes us. The mere existence of pain is what brings us to our knees. But what is more forthcoming of joy than pain? For without it we would drown in happiness, unaware of the beauty surrounding us. Or at least that’s what we tell ourselves.