Edward Chen
Ames High School
Dear Mr. Camus,
I used to believe life, like seasons, passively changes the colors of hope. Life seemed to melt monotonously through my soul in alternating passages of dreary, white, darkness and vivid, green, contentment. Last winter, I came across a novel that would change my entire perspective on the way I must live. Your insightful book, The Stranger, presented the embodiment of my distorted concept of passive living. The turbulent yet listless life of the main character, Monsieur Meursault, illuminated how deluded I was to see the world through blank eyes and has truly reformed my attitude towards fulfilling dreams, passions, and life itself.
Dreams are the essential elements of preserving hope and life. When I read The Stranger, I could not help but feel profound pity for Meursault. Life to him seemed desperately empty, and he would not simply lift up his soul to grasp optimism and truth in the world around him. I did not want to be Meursault. I could not passively watch my dreams shed their substance and drift away in the current of lost time. Life's meaning is created through active living, and, Mr. Camus, your insight into the depths of human nature inspired me to pursue that meaning with utmost fervor.
Although life is not always the everlasting paradise I wish it could be, I must have the courage to believe in the ideal, to allow life to reveal its inner beauty. What struck me about Meursault's outlook on life through most of the book was that it was so detached that if left no room for introspection, will, or any glimpse of personal identity. Yet, as the story grows to an end, Meursault surprises me with his sudden epiphany and acceptance of his life as a transient entity, something as impermanent as the wind:
Throughout the whole absurd life I'd lived, a dark wind had been rising toward me from somewhere deep in my future, across years that were still to come, and as it passed, this wind leveled whatever was offered to me at the time, in years no more real than the ones I was living.
From then on, Meursault saw hope. Although it wasn't the hope of liberty, of happiness, or of ecstasy in life, it was a hope of contentment in the embrace of death. Although this resignation may seem cowardly or impersonal, I couldn't help but feel pride for his self-realization. He finally saw life instead of walking gently through it. He had opened up his soul and breathed in the essence of emotion. I realized then that I must cherish the simple power of inspiration, persistence, will, and the active pursuit of dreams in order to free my soul from the prison of passive resignation.
Last year, there were two suicides at my school. One was a student I knew fairly well, and the other was my guidance counselor, a dynamic character with whom I had established a close relationship through the years. During my tumultuous ruminations about these tragedies, I was reminded of Meursault's journey to revelation and how there are two paths I can take in life. I can opt to resign my struggles and be swept helplessly into a turbulent conflict between inner desires and outward adversities. Or, I can tenaciously seize a dream, a passion, or the faintest notion of personal growth to extract from life every drop of self-actualization. I have chosen the latter with courage, strength, and faith.
Life is what I make it, and to have a life of depth, meaning, and intensity, I must take the initiative to lift up my soul in times of anguish and to bathe in the pure joy of success. Life is truly a process of experience and endurance, and I yearn to find hope beyond the affecting final words of The Stranger: "the gentle indifference of the world." I live for myself, and I must know I am worth the trial of facing the sometimes indifferent nature of society. Through your heartfelt writing and explication of the human condition, Mr. Camus, I have been inspired to build a life of dignified and creative activism.
Sincerely,
Edward Chen
