I’ve been reading Camus’ The Myth of Sisyphus very carefully, and though his sharp intelligence, depth and arguing capability are undeniable, the treatment he gives to this book’s subject makes me think that maybe Albert missed one little detail: He who wants to die wants to die and that’s it. There are no arguments written on the labyrinth’s walls. The space that separates a human being with suicidal tendencies from the edge is only a straight line with no exits, sometimes clear as crystal and sometimes blurry by some kind of promising and yet strange fog. What prevents a person from approaching to the end (or pushes him to stay still and away) is the result of an ambivalent nature that once again has successfully leaned towards life, in the same way it could do exactly the opposite on any other ordinary day. And we could spend a lifetime rummaging in every single aspect of the dying’s existence, just attempting to figure out the underlying reason of his final choice and its implications, but the truth is that no man who actually wanted to end his life would go through such kind of intellectual exercises, for he is to busy trying to restrain (or materialise?) his desire to turn death into a more tangible concept. This linking-ideas game may seem quite interesting on a Sunday afternoon, however when it comes to suicide, to the very act of killing yourself… Well, it’s pointless.