"What you give, is what you get"

Friday, October 21

This dramatic week is really killing me. Really really hard one, I guess so far. SPM is quite closed. 24 days left (when I wrote this post) before SPM. Rumors are spreading here and there. Being a hypocrite surrounded hypocrites, backstabbers and two-faced people is not fun at all. The level of what again we called kesabaran is actually at my bottom line.

I found myself lost, between time and tide. Dust of times. Fate seems to be a fake thing to me now. I no longer myself now. Who's strong enough to face this alone. I no longer have what I used to called superpower that I kept along with me all these days. Its gone now. Its gone. Its hurt when you woke up the next morning, you turned to your 'love-wall' and all those memories you put them on it, had already gone. Its hurt, only God knows that. I, myself tried to think positive every each second so I'm not going to treat my own self with savery with those non-stop cursing came out from my mouth and non-stop tears rolls down my cheeks. Its tiring.

Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.
And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.

And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.