"Do you want to live?"
That question can only be answered after facing the one that comes before it: 'Is there a reason to live?'
Growing up in a foster home filled with nothing but despair and hatred, I would occasionally ask myself this question:
Is there a reason to live when the only thing you ever receive are verbal insults for not being able to overachieve at school?
Is there a reason to live when your blood sister gets forcefully thrown into an arranged marriage, without ever fulfilling her dream of going to college, leaving you to fend for yourself — alone?
Is there a reason to live when you give it your all, and it all amounts to nothing but the bare minimum? I never asked to be born into this world. I never asked to be an orphan. So why was it all on me?
"Why me?"
Surely, there must be a reason. So then...
"is there really a reason for me to live?"