What is life?
I used to ask myself this question again and again.
My professor once said,
"Life is the condition that distinguishes animals and plants from inorganic matter, including the capacity for growth, reproduction, functional activity, and continual change preceding death."
(He literally gave me the Google answer… sigh.)
My English teacher said,
"Life is the existence of an individual human being or animal."
(Wow, another Google answer. Why am I even surprised… sighh.)
Why am I asking this question?
The reason is a little cringe, but when my ex broke up with me, she said, with that annoyed tone, "Get a life."
She didn't even look at me.
Am I still hung up on that?
Maybe… not about the breakup, but about that one line — get a life.
I still don't understand what she meant. Not to brag, but at the time I was MIT's top CS student. Companies like Microsoft, Google, Amazon, SpaceX, and even NASA wanted me. I'd known her for ten years… yet I still can't understand what she meant.
And here I am now — thirty-nine, about to turn forty.
It's 23:59 pm.
Tomorrow is my birthday, and I'm sitting in my house, alone.
I looked at my Rolex (I'm not flexing, I swear!!) on my left wrist.
00:00 am.
My birthday.
The same day she left me.
"What a great f*cking life…"
My dream of becoming a scientist came true.
So why do I feel so hollow?
It's cold. Really cold.
"…."
I think I'm getting sick. My eyelids feel heavy, my body is relaxing on its own.
The room is quiet. Too quiet.
I can only hear my heartbeat.
"Please… help me…"
I'm losing consciousness.
"Someone… anyone…?!"
It's dark. Really dark.
I can't open my eyes.
I can't open my mouth.
I can't even hear my heartbeat anymore.
It's really quiet.
"…."
Is this the end?
"….."
Suddenly, my body starts to get warm.
Lub.
"…?"
Dub.
I heard a soft beat.
Lub — Dub.
It sounds like my heartbeat, but weaker than before.
Something is squeezing me.
A bright shine bursts around me.
I try to open my eyes, but the light hurts.
For a moment it was cold, and suddenly it felt warm again.
"Waaaa!! Waaa!!…"
(What the f*ck is happening?!)
"Waaaa!! Waaaa!!"
(Wait — I can open my mouth again?!)
Noises… noises…
'What's that sound?'
'Wait — I can finally see!'
My eyes adjust, and I see someone holding me. Long brown hair, hazel eyes, beautiful pale skin.
She's sweating a lot.
Then it hits me.
"Waaa!! Waaaaa!!"
(Did I just turn into a baby?!)
<< ONE MONTH LATER >>
Hi. My name is Peter B. Parker, and as you might guess — I'm Spider-Man.
Or… at least, not yet.
I figured it out after I was born. It took me a month to fully compose myself and understand my situation.
Basically, I used to be Anthony Carter, a computer scientist who worked with NASA.
Now I'm Peter B. Parker — the guy destined to be a superhero.
I never read comics, but I knew Spider-Man. He was one of my favorite heroes.
And now I'm living every kid's dream.
Ahem. Ahem.
Sorry — lost my composure again.
You might be wondering what I'm doing right now.
My parents aren't home, so my aunt and uncle are taking care of me.
(Yes — Aunt May and Uncle Ben.)
Right now I'm with Aunt May. She's reading picture books to me.
For some reason, I don't feel guilt for taking Peter's body. Instead, I feel relieved — like I can redo my life.
But there's just one tiny problem…
"Aaah!! Aaah!!"
(THIS WORLD IS CURSED!!)
Not literally — but it's dangerous. Crime everywhere. People get shot often.
It's so bad the news tells people not to go outside at night.
I guess that's life. Even back in the old New York, it wasn't safe… not this bad, but still.
"May, I'm back! Can you help me out here?"
"Coming, honey!"
"Peter, stay right here, okay? I'll go help your uncle."
"Aaah!"
(Okay…)
Now that Aunt May isn't here, let's read the books from their room.
I struggle, but I manage to grab one that fell onto the floor.
It's a mechanical engineering book — and honestly, really interesting.
After about ten or fifteen minutes, Aunt May returns.
"Oh my!! Peter, what are you doing? That's your uncle's book — you shouldn't play with it!"
She takes it and puts it back on the shelf.
"Aah!!"
(Hey, I was reading that!!)
"Peter, don't play with Uncle Ben's books, okay? They're important."
"Aah… ahh!"
(I can't wait to grow up. This is so annoying.)
Time flies. At age one, I can walk, talk, and read. My mom and dad are still around.
At age two, I'm much smarter than other kids. I'm more athletic too, even if my body is still small. My body adapts fast — way faster than normal.
Then I turn five.
The turning point of my life.
"Take care of him, May."
"Peter… we love you."
They both kiss me.
Then they leave.
A month later, the news reports their accident.
My chest tightens.
I cry nonstop for a day.
I cry again and again.
Seconds turn to minutes.
Minutes to hours.
Hours to days.
Days to months.
Months to years.
I turn thirteen.
Unlike the real Peter, I'm not nerdy and socially awkward. I'm smart and athletic — but because of constant studying and reading, my eyesight deteriorated.
So I wear glasses. Nothing I can do about that.
On the bright side, I figured something out:
My brain is fast. Like, four times the average person's processing speed.
I memorize things easily.
I solve problems instantly.
Honestly, I could take the entire grade-level exam right now and score full marks.
(No wonder Peter made the web-shooters.)
But there's one problem:
Physically, I'm weak. Really weak.
The first time I played sports, I got bruises on my legs just from standing too long.
After learning that, I started doing cardio and workouts. I kept getting injured at first, but slowly, results appeared.
Now, I'm not big, but my body looks more masculine than the average thirteen-year-old. My abs are visible.
But when I wear clothes, I look slim — sleeper build.
While admiring myself in the mirror, Aunt May calls:
"Peter! Come down here!"
I go downstairs…
"Aunt May, what is— it…?"
On the sofa are two girls: one around Aunt May's age, and one my age, cheeks bright red.
"Peter! Why aren't you wearing a shirt!?"
"Oh shoot!!"
I sprint upstairs, grab a shirt, throw it on, and hurry back down.
"Sorry you had to see that," Aunt May laughs. "He's usually more well-mannered."
"Well, can't blame him. Even my daughter walks around topless sometimes," the older woman laughs.
"Mom!!" the younger girl shouts.
The two older women burst into laughter again.
"Peter, I'd like you to meet Madeline Watson and Mary Jane Watson. They live right beside us."
"Sorry about earlier, Miss Watson," I say, scratching my head.
"It's okay. Just call me Madeline."
"Okay, Miss Madeline."
"And honestly," she laughs, "my daughter does the same thing at home."
"Mom!!" MJ says, embarrassed.
"Hi, I'm Mary Jane — just call me MJ. And don't be so formal around me. Also don't listen to this old woman; she was joking."
The older women laugh again.
"Peter, why don't you show MJ around the house?"
This woman… is she trying to set me up?
"Sure," I say, walking on the hallway.
I look back. "Come on, I'll show you around."
She follows.
So… this is MJ.
I didn't really know her as a kid since we didn't go to the same school, and I rarely played with kids my age.
'I guess the time is near…'