The notion that good deeds deserve reward and evil faces punishment is ingrained throughout humanity, woven into every aspect of society–from our legal systems to even our fairy tales. After all, if the miller’s daughter had been truthful to the King, she would never have found herself trapped under the burden of her promise to Rumpelstiltskin. Wrongdoing should be punished, and good must be rewarded to encourage similar behavior. The upholding of this principle is essential to a collective society, as often these moral values will be the direct consequence of cooperation between many people. It is when human beings interact with each other, that honesty, integrity, righteousness, and goodwill become most apparent. Imagine a world where generosity went unnoticed and cruelty faced no repercussions — chaos would reign.

Beyond consequences, the notion of rewarding good deeds and punishing evil ones upholds the value of justice. When good actions earn recognition and appreciation, it affirms a sense of fairness and balance. Furthermore, this reward encourages people to embrace “good” traits, such as kindness, honesty, and compassion. Conversely, holding individuals accountable for any misdeeds restores that equilibrium as well as prevents an unchecked descent into moral anarchy. It is justice that becomes the scale on which we can weigh our actions, not only ensuring that no acts go unnoticed but also acting as a guiding light for individual choices.

Unfortunately, life is not always so ideal. Good deeds can go unrewarded, the righteous can suffer, and evil can go unnoticed or unpunished. How can we expect people to act ethically if our inconsistent system often fails?

Luckily, human life extends beyond external reward and punishment. The beautiful nature of self-awareness allows introspective thoughts that motivates intrinsic goodwill, independent of any outside reward. By upholding ethical principles, people fulfill a need for meaning and purpose in human life, and we seem to find reward in the satisfaction of acting with integrity or being charitable. Following an internal moral compass, we can strengthen our sense of self, which requires no outside reward nor recognition. Furthermore, ethical behavior contributes to a larger sense of community, inspiring others to act in a similar manner and build a society that idealizes harmony. 

The story of Job, the epitome of righteousness who endured unimaginable suffering, challenges our simplistic understanding of rewarding good and punishing evil. Why would God seemingly punish a good man? Perhaps the answer lies not in our simple understanding of justice, but rather in a deeper understanding of God’s purpose. Job’s suffering acts as a crucible that deepens his understanding of God’s grace and his own limitations. Furthermore, his story serves as a reminder that suffering, while often undeserved, is inevitable in human existence regardless of our moral standing. This idea might give solace to all people, as we can remain sure of our own moral goodness in times of suffering.

“You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.” – Buddha

I love my dog. He can’t do any tricks, and he will only sit if you hold a treat above his head. If he was entered into a dog contest, he would probably not win a prize. In fact, he can sometimes be a nuisance, barking at every squirrel and stealing napkins from the trash. But I love my dog more than any other dog in the world. It is difficult to list any reasons for why I do, but the incomparable attachment I feel for him trumps any flaws or mediocre abilities he might have.

My dad once told me that I should try to love myself the same way I love my dog: it is a love that should not be based on any achievements, accomplishments, or physical attributes. Self-love should be an unconditional, pure attachment to who you are as a person. For me, it has not always been that way. Academic success, parental approval, and sports are all various things I have used to weigh how I felt about myself. In sophomore year my life became almost entirely revolved around my weight. Suddenly, there were tangible numbers that I used to quantify my worth: how many calories was I eating in a day? What was the number when I stepped on a scale? I discovered that I felt best about myself when I was able to skip breakfast and lunch, waiting until 5pm before eating anything each day. I grew to hate the feeling of a satisfied stomach. To me, loving myself equated to feeling hungry. Mirrors became my greatest enemy, but, rather than avoid them, I became obsessed with looking into them. The warped view of my body I saw each time I looked into the mirror reflected the distorted mental state on my body image.

My dad’s advice seemed frustratingly simple. If I could love my dog unconditionally, shouldn’t I be able to love myself that same way? After all, it’s me. I’m the same girl I was when I was seven years old, dancing around the living room to the soundtrack of Mamma Mia. I have lived with myself and my thoughts every day, and I have autonomy over every decision that I make. It’s me. Why do I base part of my worth on anything other than who I am as a person? Why is it so hard?

Loving myself like I love my dog is something I work on every single day. There are areas that I have made significant progress in and can usually separate from my self-worth, such as academic success or parental approval. And there are other areas, like my body image, that it takes extra effort for each day. There are good days, when I feel as though I love and care about myself just for me. I feel proud of myself, and I feel free. And then there are occasional bad days, when my reflection or satisfied stomach affects me a little more than normally and I feel a small sense of self-guilt. But, every day, I go home and greet my dog. He rushes to the door, wagging his tail, and I am reminded of two things: that I love him unconditionally, and he loves me unconditionally. And every day, I am reminded of the pure attachment and love that I deserve to feel about myself. “Puppy love” has taken a new meaning to me.

“Carpe diem. Seize the day, boys. Make your lives extraordinary.“

My Deeper Meaning Life Bucket List

1. I want to have been in love with someone.
2. I want to have been a mother.
3. I want to have owned a home.
4. I want to have owned a family heirloom and I want to have passed it on.
5. I want to have led some significant community service project/effort.
6. I want to be remembered for making deep personal connections with other people.

Love

I believe that human connections give life meaning beyond individual pursuits. Finding people to connect and share life experiences with can help combat loneliness and allows for empathy, compassion, and true understanding of the world around you. I believe love is the most pure form of human connection, and that it means caring for someone and for every aspect of their personality and character. Loving others gives people a purpose of life beyond themselves, which leads to more kindness and compassion in humanity. In turn, being loved by others can grant people a sense of strength, as they feel valued and not alone throughout their mortal life. Personally, I have always been a romantic at heart, falling in love with the stories of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy (Pride and Prejudice), Day and June (Legend), and Addie and Henry (The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue) — just to name some of my favorites. I also believe that love requires vulnerability, and opening yourself up to a person requires trusting them completely. Through reading, I have also vicariously had a taste for heartbreak, and I’ve cried through many stories of tragic endings and loss of love. Despite this, I do not believe anyone — from characters in my books to people in real life — has ever truly regretted being in love. And I hope that one day, I will be able to open myself up to someone completely and feel truly loved for the person I am, and love that person for who they are.

Motherhood

Children are often considered a means of establishing legacy. Beyond simply extending the family line, children are extensions of their parents, allowing them to feel that a part of their life will extend beyond their own death. To raise a child is to contribute to the future by helping to develop a person of the next generation. More importantly, though, to raise a child with love is to bestow your own experience onto someone else, allowing your personal experiences, thoughts, and general life to be passed down and last far beyond your lifetime. I have always wanted to be a mother, mainly because I have always cherished my relationship with my own mom. Her love for me is the tender kind, one that takes form in chicken soup on sick days and surprise chocolate bars on stressful weeks. She is my mom, but she is also my friend, and I have spent many hours with her talking, laughing, and singing. My mom has been such a big part in who I am as a person, and her open and apparent love for me makes me want to love someone in that same way when I am older. I want to share these same experiences with a son or daughter of my own, and care for a child in a way that only a mother can. And although I cannot fully grasp this concept now, I would hope that my child would provide me a sense of lasting legacy, and a purpose of life that becomes more important than myself.

Home

The concept of home is often described as relating to many things — a house, family, loved ones, place of origin. I believe “home” can be defined by the person describing it, but that many definitions share the sense of safety and belonging that comes with home. Without connections to one another, humanity fails as a whole to unite and share experiences, thus isolating people to their own lives. Likewise, without the feelings of safety and belonging that a home should provide, people fail to find true peace and happiness in their lives, demonstrating the importance of these feelings in human life. I have always thought of my house as our family’s home base. There are so many parts of the house that have been made into a home, from each carefully planted bush and flower by my mom to each self-installed stove, washing machine, toilet, or AC unit by my dad. The artwork that has been made by my sister and me throughout the years decorates our walls, along with family photos and paintings from my grandma. Within these walls, I feel a sense of safety and the enveloping love of my family. Although it will soon be time for me to leave and find my own way in the world, I know that this house will always be a place that I can come back to and call home. And one day, I hope to have my own house, decorating it and caring for it so that house can reflect the love I put in, turning it into a home for my own family and creating that same safe environment for my loved ones.

Family Heirloom

As much as it is important to look to your current loved ones and think about your future, I believe it is equally important to respect your familial history, culture, and ancestors. Looking back at family history can tell the story of what you come from, thus giving people a stronger sense of self identity and appreciation of heritage. I believe humanity should be constantly looking back to the past, as it encourages a sense of appreciation for those who came before you. As a third-generation Asian-American, I do not feel a strong tie to my Korean heritage. I never learned how to speak Korean and I ate more chicken tenders and fries than bibimbap or kimbap. My grandparents speak to me in English, and they never go into much detail when they tell the story of how they immigrated to the United States. Despite this, I feel a strong sense of gratitude for my grandparents, as I can’t imagine the courage to move to a country with a foreign language and far different customs. When I think about their story, it reminds me that every opportunity I have today is because of their hard work and dedication to the future of their lineage, and I am a product of their work. I want to one day own a family heirloom as to someday have a physical object that reminds me of where and who I come from, and I want to one day be able to pass that object down to my own child. Owning this heirloom is important to me — not because of the object itself, but rather because of the family history that it symbolizes. In this way, I can physically prolong the memory of the stories of my ancestors, both celebrating and appreciating what they have done for our family, as well as further solidify my own identity.

Giving Back

Just as how children can serve as a means to prolong legacy and leave a lasting impact, giving back to society in some form can also serve as that same purpose. Community service and goodwill must first start with empathy and compassion. But even deeper than that, I believe that it also starts with the understanding that all people are the same in one fundamental way: we are all mortal, and we all are trying to find purpose in our lives. This shared experience that is common between all people, no matter how different, binds all of us and leads to the possibility of empathy between any two human beings. The very essence of human interaction and connection is based on this principle, and I believe that doing good for others starts with this. I hope to somehow make a real, positive impact on someone’s life with a type of community service project or effort that is significant in magnitude. In this way, I hope to contribute to society in a way that will hopefully be continued beyond my own life, and in a way that is large enough that I am satisfied with that contribution.

Making Personal Connections

I have always been an emotional person, which has led to my strong value of empathy and human connections. I am always seeking to make connections with others, finding similarities in our shared experiences and learning from one another. I want to be remembered as someone who made deep and meaningful connections with many people, both on an individual level and on a general level. With my close friends, family, and other loved ones, I hope that I am remembered for the individual relationship that developed between the two of us. Generally, I want to be remembered for having an ability to connect easily with people, not only as a surface-level friendship, but as a deep and meaningful relationship. In our history, humans have known suffering. In the past century, we’ve seen two world wars and multiple genocides on mass scales. We’ve seen the deaths of innocents – from school shootings to global pandemics to natural disasters. Humans know suffering. And yet there is hope – inspired by the acts of kindness and humanity every single day. Humans may suffer together, but we also grieve together, we heal together, we push for change together. Every notion of bad news is met with the reality of goodness in our society. Human connection is not only how we combat loneliness, it’s also how we persevere. It’s how we learn to hope. After all, as philosopher and poet Joe Straynge once said, “Human connection is the most vital aspect of our existence, without the sweet touch of another being we are lonely stars in an empty space waiting to shine gloriously.”

Siddhartha Gautama, more commonly known as the Buddha, once said that “Everything is changeable, everything appears and disappears; there is no blissful peace until one passes beyond the agony of life and death.” The finite and fleeting moments of life are made more precious by the very nature of their impermanence, and the promise of change adds color to life, allowing us humans to experience emotions in more powerful waves. After all, it is death that unites all people; no human can outrun their own impending end. Morbid? Perhaps. But the simultaneous elegance that is tied to this shared ultimate ending is the link to human connection. Time is finite, moments with loved ones are limited, people can only pursue so many goals, and one can only enjoy so many morning cups of coffee. Death pays no respect to wealth, ethnicity, race, gender, or any background. As Utnapishtim says, “‘What is there between the master and the servant when both have fulfilled their doom?'” (107).

There is something so inherently human about our own mortality, which is a notion often suggested through our depictions of immortal beings. We often characterize mythological Gods, vampires, and fairies as unfeeling beings, without a drop of sympathy for suffering. Even in the Epic of Gilgamesh, Utnapishtim’s story of the flood shows the flippant decision by the Gods to extinguish the human race on the basis of noise levels. Immortality leads to the loss of the value of life, countering the naturally human instinct to value and preserve it. This concept illustrates the association of death with our very humanity, demonstrating the idea that our mortality not only connects us all, but also adds value to life. Perhaps if permanence truly existed, sunsets would not be as beautiful and a cool summer breeze would not be as refreshing. The small and beautiful moments of life are more complete and precious by the very nature of their limits.

The concept of unpredictability also inherently divides the dead and the living. Upon his own impending death, Enkidu states, “‘What is this sleep which holds you now? You are lost in the dark and cannot hear me'” (95). While the life of the living is unpredictable and impermanent, the dead can “rest” and “sleep” in peace, demonstrating another way that we humans characterize death.

Although human life itself is indeed finite, we often find ourselves searching for ways to prolong our legacy beyond our time. Children are often seen as the promise of the future and a way to extend one’s legacy past their own death. Many religions seek to establish a sense of peace regarding death, whether it be a theory on the afterlife or a promise of entrance into Heaven. Our attempts to create a lasting effect on society and come to terms with our ultimate end highlights a human struggle shared by all. After all, if a king who is two-thirds “God” can struggle to accept his mortality, certainly a full human must be allowed to grapple with this concept. Perhaps it is a quest that each individual must pursue, on their own timeline and in their own way.

The hero and his quest. Almost every epic in literature has its protagonist: the character us readers find ourselves rooting for. The internal desire to see our character succeed can sometimes even be so strong as to turn our eyes away from his or her flaws. All these works – from Star Wars to The Odyssey to King Arthur and His Knights of the Round Table – illustrate a hero’s quest to some final development. In these stories, we can draw at least one verdict: heroism is not easy, and to be a hero means to struggle. What may be a heroic action or behavior to one individual may be a trivial accomplishment to another, thus diminishing the “heroism” tied with it. Take Frodo Baggins, a clumsy and small hobbit who destroys a magical ring to save all of Middle-Earth. Had this same adventure been completed by, let’s say, Elrond, a powerful and ancient elf, the story would have been much less interesting.

Frodo is one common archetype of a protagonist: our unlikely hero. But after all these literary stories, are our unlikely heroes really that unlikely? Beyond the fact that Frodo is a small hobbit, he fits in well with the hero characterization: He is white, male, and seems to have an improbable knack for inspiring people with much more experience and authority than him. Our characterization of an unlikely hero is now expected, and we rarely read stories with true unlikely heroes. Perhaps this is why, decades after women have earned their right to vote, joined the workforce, and taken a greater political voice, our female heroines remain much less common. Perhaps this is why, after decades of striving for equal treatment regardless of race, religion, sexuality, or gender identity, our society seems to subconsciously (or consciously) default back to our standard characterization of a hero, unlikely or not.

Heroes also are portrayed to uphold moral values throughout their quest. Honesty, integrity, perseverance, loyalty, and conviction are all commonly found in the characters we admire. However, as already asserted before, heroism is not easy. Often a quest is not only defined by physical challenges but also temptation (and subsequent resilience) of betraying personal values. These mental challenges are often similar to struggles that many people experience in everyday life, making these characters relatable to people in many ways. This raises another verdict: heroes are almost always flawed, often in ways that are applicable to their readers. As people, we crave imperfection as a way of justifying our own natural, and so inherently human, mistakes. After all, if Odysseus can commit adultery but still win Penelope’s heart and Achilles can suffer from the disease of excessive pride but still be famed as a war hero, can’t we justify our own mistakes that we make each day? Perhaps our need for our heroes is driven by our own need for consolation in our flaws as well as the hope that we can achieve greatness despite them. Bertolt Brecht once said, “Unhappy the land that needs heroes.” If our desire for heroes is based on our own faults, the unhappiness that Brecht refers to may derive from our subconscious awareness of our limitations.

And what of our perspectives of these characters’ faults? Does our desire to see our protagonist succeed veil flaws that are too easily forgiven? Odysseus’ affair with Calypso is often overlooked and we readers end up praising his devotion to his wife. While our favorite heroes display exemplary morals and values, there are often many aspects that go overlooked. The flaws we choose to ignore, the lack of hero diversity, and character archetypes that are overly used are all issues that exist in our literary world. Regardless, however, our heroes are mirrors of our society, demonstrating in a fictional light some brutally honest truths of human behavior and the world we live in.