A few months ago, I traveled the pages of Milan Kundera’s The Joke, which was published on the eve of the Prague Spring in 1967 and eventually banned. I had read other works by him, as he is one of my favorite writers. Still, in this book, I came across a quote which struck me and deserves mention here.

“Do love stories, apart from happening, being, have something to say? For all my skepticism, I had clung to a few superstitions - the strange conviction, for example, that everything in life that happens to me has a sense beyond itself, means something, that life in its day-to-day events speaks to us about itself, that it gradually reveals a secret, that it takes the form of a rebus whose message must be deciphered, that the stories we live in life comprise the mythology of our lives and in that mythology lies the key to truth and mystery.

Is it all an illusion? Possibly, even probably, but I can’t seem to rid myself of the need to decipher my life continually.“