What does it mean to be an alien?

Is it to stare at oneself in a dim mirror and see a little, green Martian staring back?

Maybe it’s the oddities of one’s behavior; uncanny, yet yearning for humanity?

It is a delicate mixture, one that sears the very mind into an instinctual duplicity, cutting the whole psyche asunder into a fragmented masquerade.

The internal necessity to believe in oneself, the idea of self-actualization, becomes an obsession to the alien. Those desperately grasping at the threads of fate, yearning to become something knowable, only to fall short and writhe in absolute despair, are aliens.

Aliens want to believe.

And so, they gaze into the dim mirror and wait, holding fast to the desire to attain the spark of life, but in doing so, they waste away dreaming instead of believing.

For if aliens genuinely believed, they would have already attained their purest desire.

Though there should be no ignorance in these matters. Aliens search after their only abode, and beyond the celestial bodies, dark matter, and obnoxious flying saucers, lies a place where they are known, each by a chosen name:

These are the unsearchable lands of Absolute Elsewhere.