What is the meaning of life?

As the divine embodiment of the denial of divinity, this question has become my rubix cube, my biggest fascination, an obsession as well as my eternal headache. It's something I've turned over and over, twisted in every conceivable way, looking for something cohesive that I can solve and comprehend.

But I found no answers.

Just twisting colors, in an answerless sea.

Am I an error? A pre-determined construct of mana of anothers creation? Am I nothingness cursed to have a form against my nature, or am I blessed to exist when, really, it's a miracle that I have this chance and gift of life against all probability? Am I my own person, free to be as I want, or am I doomed to be as I was made?

I don't know.

Maybe... not knowing is the closest thing I've come to an answer.

Because in that strange overlap between the suffering of not knowing, and the joy in the uncertainty of there still being more to find, there's something intangible and, in lack of better words... meaningful.

Maybe, the meaning of life is simply where the highs and lows meet and overlap, in something that can be called a whole.

Then, maybe I am perfect. Rather than an error. I don't know.

Maybe that's a contradiction. But since I am a contradiction myself, please do, at least, forgive me that.