This is where the problem lies; knowing the end. It is saddening to be aware of how the ending will be. It shatters us to the core knowing there is a finish line, knowing this is all merely the high. That's the problem when you've already died and revived yourself; you're never fully alive again. It isn't the same as the first time, that wound has left a scar and this scar is a reminder that the finish line is what you deem it. I feel like I've acquired the taste of disappointment and maybe that's why I can't adjust myself to this new flavor, a mixture of chance, hope, and love; a tang so heavenly. I attempted and I continue to attempt building a home in a land to which I don't belong. There is still that voice that asks, how can I mold it into an asylum when it is not mine? How can I stay, reside in a place that is overcrowded? How did I lead myself here? But I silence that voice because I am so overwhelmed by the thought of what might be. The what if's and maybe's are intoxicating but here I am inhaling all the unrealistic possibilities in hope that the end might be modified. The feeling of home can't be enforced it is a choice. This choice isn't an independent one it has to be two sided otherwise the four walls that are holding us together eventually collapse for when the base isn't strong, when it isn't solid it falls apart and when it does it takes a piece of us with it. A piece we can't get back, we can't recollect. We are left scarred. Yet the scars we bear aren't a shame they are power. These wounds will heal and they will mend us into warriors. This hurt will end and we will blossom.
I remember my excitement for 2010 I had just turned 11 and the world seemed to be my oyster, I had a whole plan set out for myself. I was a hardheaded child with a plan, a well thought of plan, I was going to graduate high school at 17 and start university directly after, as a law student of course, and Harvard was the obvious choice. Nothing seemed too far, nothing seemed unreachable, every dream I had was valid, every dream was a possibility. It is hard to reminisce the past, how all that energy is long gone, I blame this war for it. In February of 2015, I was sixteen preparing for my AS-Levels to elevate my chance of getting into a league school, my life revolved around books and studying, I would stay put for six hours straight without budging studying maths day in, day out. I missed out on so much all for an exam I never took because the moment this aggression began all hell broke loose, everything was cancelled and I was left to panic and cry that my life plan wou...
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