OhtaNotes

The atoms in your body have been part of forests, oceans, stars. You will be returned, eventually. Everything is.

Maybe. Always maybe. So every sentence may deserve a maybe. Maybe.

I love this empty space. But I fear that if I sit there, I might have to think about life. Therefore, I never sit.

For 99% of human history, life was survival. Meaning came later, uninvited.

You are 37 trillion cells. They all, somehow, agreed to be you.

We treat life like a rough draft, always planning to revise it later.

Every week is a sentence. Tuesday is the verb.

We assume life has a shape. It may be a series of unrelated moments. That, somehow, is enough.

Don’t save your good ideas for Friday. They expire.

Decide with the information you have. More is coming, also uncertain.