"What do you think your reason for being here is?"
First, define here. Here as in New York State? Here as in the mobile home I currently live in? Here as in the world? The Universe?
There are so many angles in which I could answer this question.
I will start with the easiest one; Why am I here, living in a mobile home, in a trailer park? Because I'm some-kind-of-trashy-folk with no front teeth, who drinks beer out of a paper bag and collects cats.
I'm just kidding. Silly stereotypes ...
In all honesty, the trailer we live in isn't that bad. The lack of insulation sucks in the winter, the aluminium frame makes it too hot in the summer, the furnace likes to stop working sometimes (but it always again works after a reset), and the price of propane is killing us, but other than that, we don't have any real problems with this place. It's a roof over our heads, with electricity and heat, and even pretty decent luxuries like television, computers, and internet.
The reason we chose a trailer park was because my fiance hated apartment living. He hated having neighbors on top of you and below you and right next to you, and I understood that. But our credit wasn't the best at the time, so buying a house wasn't an option, so we decided to look at this place. The price was right and it's located in a decent neighborhood in the suburbs. It was out of my old neighborhood and into a new, fresh start.
This was 2 years ago, and now we're thinking about moving again, to the other side of the city because the whole furnace thing is really starting to drive us nuts, and we're cold. And because our best friends live over there and it would be nice to have them closer because we're hermits who don't like going out and meeting new people. We like the ones we have, thank you very much.
Now to answer the more obscure side to the question; Why am I here, as in Why do I exist? What is my purpose for being alive, at this time, on this planet, living this particular life?
Well, I could say that I'm here because my parents decided to have sex at a certain time on a certain day, and my sperm won! Nine months later I was born, given my common name and handed over to my parents to psychologically mind fuck me until the day they die. That's a biological answer, and although it is true, I know it's not the answer you're looking for.
I have to be completely honest with you; I don't know.
I have no fucking idea why I am alive or what my "purpose" in life is. But what I do know is that, whatever I do in this life, however I choose to live my life, regardless of what other people think or believe or how they live their lives, is what makes my life meaningful.
What I do know is that there is a difference between living and existing.
Some people just exist. Go through the motions of daily routine and think that's it, this is my life. And for some people, that's okay.
But that is never what I wanted. I want to do things that most people are afraid to do. I want to bend the rules and even break a few. I want to be brave and strong and see the world up close and understand different cultures and live for a year in a tribal community in Africa and learn how they live and maybe even teach them how American's live, knowing that I will be mocked and laughed at, and then even laugh at myself.
I've always wanted to help people. Making other people happy has always made me happy. But most jobs that involve helping people don't pay enough to live on, especially when you have a kid.
I want to teach my kid that there are more important things in life besides money and things. And that being kind is more important than being right.
So, I guess, my reason for being here is to make one, and make it great. There is no magical answer from an invisible fairy on the sky. As far as we know, we only live once, and since I can't actually remember any past or future life, I am going to assume that's true. You don't have to be rich or famous to be great, you just have to be kind. Because regardless of how much money you have, eventually, we all end up dead, and you can't take your money or your things with you. But other people can take their memories with them, and memories become stories, and stories become legends, and legends become myth, and wouldn't that be so cool if in a thousand years from now, someone remembers the kindest, most selfless person in all of history (because you know how stories always get blown out of proportion after that much time) and through stories, you really can live forever.
I'd rather be remembered for my kindness and generosity than for all that money I laundered illegally for the corporation I worked for, back in the days when people worshiped money and possessions, instead of valuing human life.
But, that's just me.