Nó xuất hiện trong lòng người ta nhẹ nhàng lắm, như một cái lông chim mà đầu mỗi sợi lông vũ là một cái kim nhỏ nhỏ , rất nhỏ thôi. Nó sẽ cọ tới, cọ lui, cọ lên, cọ xuống, làm ngưòi ta cảm thấy có gì đó ngứa ngáy, có đôi chút khó chịu trong lòng. Rồi no lại lớn dần, người ta  càng khó chịu nó lại càng lớn, cho đến khi người ta cảm thấy ngột ngạt, khó thở, máu không lưu thông và rồi trái tim nghẹn lại một tí, thì nó càng vui sướng thỏa thích. À kìa, cái bia kia rồi, nó hóa thành hàng vạn cái kim lớn nhỏ vừa phải đâm thẳng đến trái tim, lớn đủ để làm trái tim ấy cứ nhói đau từng phút một, nhưng cũng đủ nhỏ để đảm bảo nó không gây tổn thương quá nhiều đến trái tim, để đảm bão cái nỗi bàng hoàng nhức nhối này gia tăng phút mỗi phút, giờ mỗi giờ. Sợ hãi đáng sợ như cái tên nó vậy, lúc đầu làm người ta tưởng nó là nỗi buồn nhỏ xíu, sau lại tưởng là nỗi đau lớn hơn một tẹo, nhưng không phảo đâu, là nỗi sợ đấy!
Sợ thì có nhiều nỗi sợ lắm, sợ đói, sợ ma, sợ nghèo, sợ thất tình, sợ đau,… Nói chung là trên đời này có cái gì thì sẽ có người sợ cái đó. Còn tôi thì sao? Tất nhiên tôi cũng sợ nghèo đói khổ, sợ xấu xí béo phì, nhưng mà tôi sợ nhất vẫn là cái nỗi sợ. Vì sao bạn biết không? Người ta thường nói lâu lâu mỗi người nên thả lỏng đầu óc, đừng suy nghĩ gì cả, để não nó trống rỗng, tâm hồn thanh thản một tí. Nhưng tôi thì lại sợ cái trống rỗng đó vô cùng. Khi nỗi sợ đến, đầu óc tôi cứ trống rỗng thiếu vắng cô cùng. Tôi chẳng nghĩ được gì, chẳng biết cái gì trên đời này nữa, cứ ngồi nằm ngửa mặt lên trần nhà chờ coi nước mắt chảy rathì mình có đỡ sợ hay không. Có khi tôi chạy đi bấm cửa tắt đèn, rồi vén cái rèm ra ngồi xổm trên bàn, nhìn đèn đường ngoài xa xa, nhìn xem coi có ai đó ngoài đường phố kia không. Vào giây phút đó, cuộc sống trở nên bi ai đến đáng sợ. Tôi đang sợ lắm đấy, sợ nhìn lại quá khứ, sợ nhìn về tương lai, sợ quẩn quanh trong cái vòng hiện tại. Sợ hãi cứ bao trùm từng giây phút thế thì liệu cuộc đời có đáng buồn hay không nhỉ?
Ngưòi ta vẫn hay hô hào rằng hãy biết vượt qua nỗi sợ hãi của mình, và rằng hãy đứng lên vì một tương lai tươi sáng hay gì đó đấy. Ngưòi ta hô thế nào tôi cũng mặc, vì nếu làm được như cái hô ấy thì con ngưòi đã chẳng là con người, và tôi cũng chẳng là tôi nữa rồi. Thực ra thi nếu cái nỗi sợ nó hữu hình, thì tôi có thể sẽ chẳng ngại ngần mà chạy tới rồi đấm cho nó một cái, dù có khi nó lại đấm lại cho tôi ba đấm cũng nên. Nhưng lúc đó, tôi còn biết tôi đang đối mặt với cái gì. Chứ nó cứ ở trong bụng tôi thế này, thì tôi đang đối mặt với cái gì đây? À rồi tôi đang đối mặt với chính mình đấy… Tự nhiên tối nhớ ai đó đã từng nói gì đấy về sự khó khăn khi đối mặt với chính mình, và rồi bạn sẽ vượt qua mọi chướng ngại vật của cuộc đời. Tôi chịu thôi, ngày nào cũng nhìn thấy cái mặt mình trong gương phát chán, càng soi càng thấy xấu ấy mà tôi còn chẳng dám nhìn nó rồi nói là nó xấu nữa là, nó mà buồn thì tôi có vui đâu bao giờ. Nói chi đến việc đối mặt với cái lòng mình, chẳng nỡ nào tôi lại khoét cho nó thêm mấy cái vết thương sâu lại càng sâu cả….
Thôi cũng chỉ là một suy nghĩ tầm phỏ trong giây phút tầm phào của nỗi sợ tầm phào. Nếu bây giờ trời mưa thì liệu tôi có cảm thấy khá hơn chăng?

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“As she runs away in her sleep, as spring leaves and winter comes, the cherry blossoms in her soul turns into dispersed petals….. Tears become poem, a poem of a single-sided love….”

Sadness suddenly approached her, with no advanced warning or telling. She hated it for being so imperious, so compelling, leaving her not a single chance to travel away. If it could just whisper really gently into her ears about its coming, she could have saved it an accommodation, she could have played a poignant song about a broken-hearted soul, and then welcomed it with tears which encompassed pain and sorrow; if that were the case, it would have made another two friends with the same ability of bringing hollowness to her eyes. She could have sat by the windows in her room, embracing it in her hands, while saying “: Do you see? Outside that window, I can feel the moonlight shimmering, I can see how the moon blends into the eternal darkness of the sky, and I can see how small, how fragile those stars are pretending to be. Believe me little dear, I can sense how these little details of them build up the united, the harmonious beauty of midnight sky. It is a starry night here, but somewhere out there it is raining interminably, just like your inexorable existence in my heart….” However, as it wished to subvert her expectations, it chose to go the cruelest way. It would rather grasp her heart and squeeze it until her tears dropped. It would transcend all limits to incarcerate her night into some place where no words could be said and no footsteps could be heard. A chronic wound was created, reminding her of useless subterfuge.

As much as she resented this sadness, in her labyrinth, it was her only friend. If she would just let loneliness take her away, she may have collapsed again and again every single day. Ironically, sadness’s kick reminded her of her being, of how life would never let her go that easy and simple; its sovereign power taught her to not be improvident of her happiness; its castigation presented in front of her eyes the adolescence of her aplomb, or even the ludicrousness of acting priggishly.

Have you ever seen a girl crying in her nightmares? That was exactly how sadness meant to her. As she cried when it came, she let out the most bitter memory of life. How miserly life would be if one day her tears no longer dropped…..Image

Where?

Emptiness irritates me. Emptiness gives me extreme uneasiness. Emptiness, emptiness- an obsession of my own.

I don’t like looking at anythings that seems interminable, grey, blank or empty. I don’t like a paper looking too white without cluttered writings on it. I don’t like my table being too neat. What pacifies me is a table looking like a mess, with books, novels, and notebooks thrown all over the place. I don’t like leaving the margins of my notebook blank, instead, I always write or draw some peculiar symbols or silly quotes that I myself do not have a clue where they come from. Indeed, one can tell whether if a book is mine or not thanks to all that self-invented drawings. I seemingly never cease to figure out ways to fill my little world, leaving emptiness not a single chance to take a step in.

But it is not as simple a task as I imagine. Life is always awaiting for you to fall into it trap, then kicks you hard, in the face ( or stomach, or belly depending on its mood), ruining all your effort in keeping your soul balanced. Life chastens you as it wants. It may grasp your heart, hold it, and squeeze it until your tears drop. It can capture your lungs, incarcerate it in the box of persecution, making you desiring for fresh air and long for escape from the extremely trammed atmosphere. Or it can do both, at the same time. As I lay in the dark, where exists only the beating of my hearts, where exists nothing but black, fear and my eyes wide open, I realize, how empty my heart has been. No effort subdues the sovereign power of life, and I , despite indefatigable work to fill up my world, fail to save my heart from what I have always evaded.

Then, in that darkness, come loneliness and depression. So lonely that words no longer success in comforting your mind; so depressed that you can not help holding back your tears. Darkness possesses the power of pushing you into a room with walls that can’t be pulled down by your strength, and roof that allows no light to penetrate through.

I try to control everything, but I leave my heart to life. And that was a mistake…..

” I am a ghost of a girl that I want to be most

I am the shell of the girl I used to know well”

crying-alone

 

How heart-broken one could be ?

What is a broken-heart ? And, what does it feel like to have a broken -heart ?

The broken -heart here is not just the one   with scars and bruises all over its surface. The broken – heart here is a little ugly heart -shaped  solid, covered by vestige of pain and cracked a little and a little more every day by the existence of resentment, jealousy . When you possess a broken heart , it will be just like that feeling when you see your favorite friend taken away by your enemy , when you see all your plans suddenly fall apart, when you look up in to the sky and see nothing , hope nothing and wish to silently disappear into that eternal blue , into that far-away horizon, when you witness your expectations fail gradually, when you look into the mirror to find nothing but a blank , pale face and ask yourself where that old smile has gone , when you put your hands onto your chest and feel something missing , and when you ask yourself the question ” Will I ever have a happy ending ?”

Then , to what extent can a heart be broken ?

When you were a child , you lived your life with absolutely no worries about tomorrow , about next week ,or your life to come. You lived for today , loved for today , built up your expectations for today and sooner or later you would be drawn into another the fields of more intriguing dreams. You may spend your childhood mostly indoors , with all the stories magically told by your parents ,your grandparents , or you could just go out and scream with your utmost voice ,be the captain of your own awkwardly embellished ships , be the princess in your brick castles ,and told your very own stories  to the world. You might be hit by your parents, get scolded for being childish ( although that was how a child should be ) , or even sometimes become isolated by your friends just because of minor conflicts over a toy , or over the rules upon which a game should be played. But , all the same, you lived your life the way you think it should be . You had every right to lose yourself in a sea of dreams , to dive into every deepest root of what you reckoned as mystery , and then came back to land just as invigorating as you could ever be. You were simply audacious ( except for fear of the dark, the evil spirits , or Mr.bugaboo )

Then , one day you find yourself growing up , long gone from that image of a child with the most stupid yet naive and genuine smile. Some day you will even preposterously wonder who was the one to leave first , you or your childhood ? You now can just look back  to your children games with a sense of deep nostalgia , or some with condescension. You’re not allowed ( according to the official rules of the Ministry of Adulthood) to do what you once considered a norm of life , or else you will end up being the only  weird guy/ girl in this world. And from that very day when you set your heart on leaving your childhood behind , your heart started to break a little. You now can still fantasize, still wish , still dream, but dreams now must be achieved, goals must be finished , or else you are then a loser. At this point , your heart breaks a little more. After wishes and expectations, there comes the family of hatred , resentment , mean and jealousy. These cooperate with each other and propel you to obliviously hurt you own heart, making it ugly and excluding all that innocence of a little child out of your head. You begin to hate , to gossip , to try your best to equal those whose happiness and success you strongly begrudge . Your heart, ironically , is no longer yours anymore. It belongs to speculation , to others’ ideas and opinions, to the thing that you were afraid of the most as a child – evil spirit, which is now created wholly  by you but not by any wicks ,monsters or cruel queens.

The day when you look around at every of your friend , at your parents ,at everything you can possibly look at and ask the question :” what about me ?” , then , your heart might have transcended the edge of what a heart can ever endure. You look up an see tears strolling down your face ,you look down and see your feet fixed to the ground, while you just want gravity to disappear so you can fly away from this confined environment. You look to the right ,to the left and tremble because of the extreme loneliness those eyes can make you feel , because of the dilapidated state you has turned your soul into. The mirror now gives the reflection of one solitary and desperate person .

Yes , your heart is now broken , to pieces.

tungay-0ad1e

 

DREAMS

My dreams are like leaves on the trees at the very end of autumn, fragile yet lingering in my mind like the sound of the rustling of  dry leaves diffused into the atmosphere by cold wind .

My dreams are like rocks under the flow of a small stream in the woods. They are eroded by time , by the currents of the stream, yet never truly disappeared from one’s sight. They stayed there , silently without any desire to be fulfilled.

My dreams are like the sudden rains of the summer. They  came quickly without any advance warning to theirs possessor; however, they would go just at fast, leaving behind an ethereal vestige of theirs existence and a very vague sense of nostalgia, or regret.

When autumn has gone , my dreams would follow its step. When the currents of that small stream tries to deny the existence of the rocks, my dreams ostensibly yield to that quest. When the summer takes all the rains away , my dreams also hide itself under forms of tiny water-drops and make an peremptory resistance to be seen.

And for my part , in the autumn ,let  imagine myself as the old man searching in vain for the hints of the autumn of the old times, when his wish to be absorbed into the special setting of the fall was blindfolded by his puerile youth and perpetual presumptuousness . The dreams had always persisted in my heart, yet they were surpassed by the sophomoric attitude and inability to recognize what I had in front of me , to choose which roads to go among the numerous roads presented .

In the jungle , let imagine myself as one solitary nomad wandering around without any specific destination,  wishing to remain at no place forever and consistently embarking on his seemingly interminable journey of life. He once stopped near that small stream , but wasn’t  punctilious and empathetic enough to take notice of the rocks beneath the water surface. I searched for my dreams wherever I went, and asked whoever I met if they happened to know the place where I hid the box of my dreams . But I never knew that they , the dreams , had always been there; They stayed so small , so infinitesimal that I missed them and went on to search for something bigger , something I considered more worthy of attention.

They said: ” dreams make up one’s life .”

I said : ” regret makes up my life instead.” Sometimes I wonder when I will escape from that prison  of excessive procrastination continuous complaints, when I will let the sun shine on that dark, timid corner where my dreams are carefully placed.

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That girl

If anyone ever approached me with the unexpected question : ” What would you like to be ? ” I would answer with absolute no hesitation that I’d love to be me – in the old days ,the naive girl with that shining smile, the girl with that fearless characteristic I could never find in myself now; the girl who possessed absolute belief that one day she would subdue the world with her majestically embellished ship, travelling through every mystic ocean and set her foot on all hidden islands. That girl lived her life with no jealousy ; she enjoyed being herself , yet resented shyness and loneliness as well; she loved climbing trees and discovering new lands;she fought with those whom she claimed to be gangsters , and once in a blue moon she even cried in her utmost voice. That girl, I remembered ,was like the captain of her life ,depending on no one to gain alacrity or freedom . The scent of complacency occupied no space in her heart, in which existed the permanent fire of hope, love and dream.

How long ago since the last time I saw her smile ? Ten years , one hundred years , or one billion years ? I don’t know. Out of a sudden , She disappeared , leaving me behind with fear and bewilderment. She’d gone , bringing with her my childhood away. She propelled me to obliviously take a step forward into my adulthood , until I acquired recognition of her absence , I’d traveled too far to even look back.

They said that everything would change eventually , no matter how painstakingly you work to cling to the presence.That girl, she took into consideration none of what they indicated to be universally acknowledged ,but me , I believed and obeyed unquestioningly with their statement. 

“Why ?” She asked….

“Fear and obsession ” I answered…..

Have you ever heard the tale of the butterfly dream ? That girl , she dreamed to become the most beautiful butterfly, to stay anomalous ,and above all, to spread her wings as wide as possible so that people could admire her exquisite patterns. She wished to stretch her fingers to catch all the bruises, pain ,and sorrow ,in the meantime , hoping that happiness would arrive one day. In contrast , the butterfly I prayed to be should be grey ,whereby I could easily find myself a secret shelter to hide away from imagined danger.

One may ask :” Do I feel desperate ,resenting her for being so overwhelming and compelling over my desire for solitude ?” Then one should keep in my : ” Why should I ?” Gratitude, in fact , would be an understatement for my feeling towards her. When I fell , She pulled me up , encouraging me to stay hardcore on that journey searching for miracle. When I kept my eyes close to be ensured that the world out there wouldn’t turn my shelter into that stormy sea where my pitiful boat was shaking because of endless wind and fearful tides, she told me to stick my tongue out and try to taste that precious sweetness of this incredible world, to undergo that bitterness of failure,and I would be able to catch that very image of how this life could embrace my soul.

“Dear” She whispered “sing your own song,dance your own style and live your own spirit ! That girl in the mirror deserves to be set free ….”

And now she’s gone, instead nightmares and persecution take control of every of my empty night. And there in that dark corner laid the nebulous vestige of her smile ……

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Love

“What is love ? What does it taste like ?”

No one ever told me what love meant to a person. But I did read stories , those romantic and touching stories, and i did watch movies , with many handsome gentlemen and graceful ladies acting preposterously . From those invaluable sources of information (according to my own opinion ) ,  I acquire that love is something intangible. It can’t be touched ,it can’t be seen ,and it can’t be thoroughly mastered by any professionals or experts or even psychologists; however , it can significantly create in your soul a remarkable upheaval of emotions and extreme feelings. Sometimes , it’s more simple than the most simple thing ever – it makes your heart skip a beat.I have always tried to reach the definition of love ,and in all my unrealistic dreams, i imagined, when you find what they consider ” true love ” , you will finally taste the kind of sweetness you can barely find in your childhood candies , or even in the sweetest thing ever in this galaxy – sugar. That kind of sweetness , diffusing into your heart just like the way the small stream silently running through the woods, would bring you smile ,give you shyness , and send you the most abstract feeling in the world -happiness. When you see “love”, I imagine , it would be like the first time you see snow with your eyes wide open and your lips trembling  because of  the bitterness of winter, touching the incredible feeling of softness and freshness. The eternal purity of snow from the very beginning of the season – Yes , that’s how love touches my heart.On the other hand, love may inevitably bring you tears. Not the kind of tears you would find anywhere in your memory, not the kind of tears that can be comforted by just some weird jokes , not the kind of tears that can be pacified by the warmth of one’s embrace, not the kind of tears that can be wiped out and easily forgotten by ordinary tissues. Tears of love encompass pain and sorrow. They have the power of giving your eyes the melancholy of flowers that are devoid of sunshine, or the despair of a child desperately left behind in a dilapidated orphanage….

But , is that love ? 

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” The most distant way in the world  

   is not the distance across us

   It is when we are breaking through the way

   We deny the existence of love “

                 _ Tagore_ 

Mother

She held my hand , looked right into my eyes with the look of a child first time realizing that one day she would have to step out to a whole new world , where iniquity and treachery prevail in every corner, where she would have to carry out the responsibility of what they claimed to be “adulthood”. And with that very look of a child losing something so precious to her life , she said:” Stay with me , be my little girl , don’t go . I don’t want you to throw yourself out there and let them torture you until you can”t even realize that you’re still breathing. Stay , I can give you everything , from houses to money, from jewelries to every one of the most common luxuries of life. I can even give you love , the unquestioning love you can’t find nowhere but in my heart . Stay , child ! You know how fearful loneliness is? Yes , fearful ,dear , I didn’t exaggerate my fear of seeing you saying goodbye to me and this little town . I’m afraid of seeing you growing out of the age when you still need the warmth embrace of my arms ; I’m afraid of losing my only reason for facing against all the difficulties of  life ; I’m afraid of being put aside to that dark corner inside your heart which you would gradually forget about its existence; I’m afraid of many things, the things that only by being a mother can you understand! Stay ,child , don’t you see how that life out there will treat you ?” She looked at me , literally begging me to have a second thought on my peremptory decision . There was hope in her eyes, those very eyes that had been watching me stepping , smiling and miserably crying . But that cursory hope was preponderantly overwhelmed by great despair and a very tiny amount of resentment . The usual warmth of her hands increased , and it had absolutely no intention of  stopping until it had implicitly lit in my soul a very small fire of regret and fear.

In that very moment , my mind bewildered , my heart ached, and my hands trembled. Throughout my childhood, besides a sea of love and  a sky of sympathy , i had never seen her despair. Even when my father’s business collapsed , and the whole relatives turned their backs against my mother , i had never seen her struggling with pain. Inside that body of average height , behind that shining smile laid the heart of a fearless woman. I had never had the slightest thought that someday she would showed me her sadness and her worries. She never let me expose myself to any of  the traps entangled there in this dangerous society,  and yet she never let anyone hurt me . She protected me by everything she had and  with her indefatigable love, but she would never let me withdraw from any of my itineraries. She picked up all the hatred on my way, instead she gave me courage and endless determination .” My mother , my mother ” I whispered. I wasn’t able to find any appropriate words , remaining dumbstruck in front of her . That look from her eyes succeeded in bringing  tears to my eyes, and it had succeeded in urging me to plead out all the cruel words i could possibly think of to stop her from  convincing me. I said , with an unbelievably cold and apathetic voice : ” what do you think ? I don’t want to bury my future in this obsolete town. You think i just wanna be what you are right now ? Then you’re dead wrong . My ambition goes far beyond that mundane purpose of yours. I wanna be rich , i wanna play the game of my life , not just sitting home and waiting for anything to be handed to me on place .” I raised my voice : ” I must go , I insist that . Only by leaving this place can i achieve my pursuit of success. And yes , i will build you houses ,at least a villa or even two . Wait until I get extremely rich, i will come back . Nothing but wealth would satisfy my thirst for fame and prosperity. ”

She remained silent . She knew me ,therefore she wouldn’t have been surprised by these words. I had been telling her this dream ever since i could realize what money meant. Money could save lives, could give you high social position, and would do no harm to your life . An old saying went like this :” Money is the root of all evils.” However , I never had any intention of taking into serious consideration such an saying. I am , indeed, wholly wrapped in the illusion of becoming wealthy and stepping into the upper class without any hesitation or embarrassment . And in my mind , only by money can I show my deepest gratitude towards my parents.    ” Who doesn’t like money “?

My mother knew where my weakness laid . If i ever showed her my confusion , she would grasp the opportunity and urge me to change my mind. None of my  friends , or acquaintances , could  ever posses such a  power over me. In front of her , I chose to conceal myself , leaving her broken-hearted whatsoever.

I saw my mother’s fear. I could understand why she became so fragile when speaking of me . I’m her only daughter , the daughter she had put all her life taking care of .

I hugged her , then walking upstairs to my room, leaving her behind with my refusal to take her words. She didn’t know , and i would never let her , how hard i cried in my secret shelter after the conversation. I had no other choice but to confess, my love for her couldn’t win over the most primitive characteristics of human beings inside me –  curiosity. There was a whole new world waiting for me out there . The world i had always dreamed to subdue. It is calling ,while my mother is staying behind. Ironically , i choose to take a step forward . And therefore  I choose to  keep these miserable and humble thoughts from her . The unspoken words remain unspoken , and my dreams remain a place where her little daughter will never exist……

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Random……..

Today,i start writing this blog , embarking on the journey to find my own way of acquiring the true meaning of life . Should i start with some review for books , in some of which i have found what is known as ” the wisdom of human beings ” ? Aw, my mind wanders again.Okay now back to the main point . Let me dig back what has motivated me to go on such an journey. Music i said ? Or is it just the mere intention of  proving to myself ( and other people you may think ) that i can actually write. In retrospect, this blog serves simply as an incentive for me to achieve the pursuit of complacency. Lately i have unintentionally read an article in a newspaper ” what is happiness ?” That ‘s still quite a sophisticated question.It is said that the journey to happiness of humankind has originated very long time ago. Satisfaction is within the reach of an ordinary person , yet he fails to remain cognitive  of his invaluable possession and instead constantly searches for something considered to be more meaningful , or in other words, something “big ” . The same case for me this time. The ambivalence which i find myself struggling with has taken root deep inside my soul. The world keeps spinning , the birds keep singing , and i keep asking for more. There were times when i wanted to treat myself to a thorough relaxation , to give myself the tranquil of mind , to look at the world through the underside of a glass bottomed boat  and thus gaining more profound insights into my dream-to-be.My dreams vary distinctively through different periods of time and under a variety of forms. There were times when i lifted my hands and prayed to be that person who, with her innate ability, would bring peace to the world and rescue the poor from abject poverty; there were times when i dreamed of becoming a ballet dancer who could  dance her own dances with her self-written classical melodies; there were also times when i wished to silently disappear under a sudden rain on a lonely summer day , thus escaping all the responsibility of an exemplary child,the crisis of life , or in fact  the complicated  yet highly artificial society i’m dwelling myself into. I like giving myself questions; however, i have never truly brought about any proper answers.It’s difficult to realize your self-worth in the environment where you cant even raise your voice and be anomalous. They said :’ Don’t be a coward, don’t be afraid, live your life as vividly and joyfully as if you had been born to taste the sweetness of this easily crumbled world. ” I did try ,indeed, but ended up giving myself every reason to withdraw from the initial itinerary. Plans have been set , but my mind has not been ready to take up and face up against the harshness and entanglement presented out there. The trip to find the happiness of my life is deterred by my own procrastination as well as my deepest fear of being exposed to reality.     

"Is that ship built for my voyage ?"

“Was that ship built for my voyage ?”

     There was once when i read a story about  the journey of a band of rabbits setting out on their trip to the new land , where they can enjoy the invariably available source of food and live an unconcerned life with alacrity . They left their homeland with almost absolute no regret , or maybe deep down in their little hearts lies a very tiny amount of nostalgia. They started the trip even before the sun shed its very first light on the grasslands of the majestic yet mystic valley. They encountered many exotic creatures they had never seen ,or even heard of , before. Every river they saw was bigger than that of their country ;every current of the rivers was fiercer , but it was without doubt that all the foreign lands they’d undergone didn’t embrace them like they had expected , and none of the many creatures they saw opened their arms to welcome them into their home .That is almost the first half of the book , which takes more than 245 pages talking about the rabbits’ bewilderment and utmost derangement for their unforeseeable future.Ironically,i found myself in the sketchy image of the rabbits  . I found myself lost in the obscurity of the thick fog in front of me. It feels like i’m covered by persecution coming from the world out there. I’m afraid of trying , of  seeing and most miserably , of being. Life is tiresome. T he dark of night gives me a scent of ominousness. The brightness of the day gives me no shelve to hide from the public eye. Scare , that is the only word exists in my mind right now . And still , i can’t get it out of my head……..