I was reading a blogpost of a friend. I'll be honest in saying I've never taken a close liking to her, but I guess her flaws are just things reflected in all of us, but something we never want to admit to.

Anyway, moving from her flaws. (after all, who am I to judge, with the plank in my eye?)


I was reading her blogpost, like I said, and I recognised the burning in her heart. I couldn't help but compare her to myself. Its like a dejavu moment, where messages are repeated, and words are becoming commonly used by people our age.

Do you see where I am going? Its like seeing a younger me, and fresher me, searching, questioning. And I believe that others would feel the same way, and perhaps those more mature than us feel the same way about us too. Are we so common, so predictable as teenagers, that our lives are constantly being repeated? Or is it just our perception in our capsulated little world, with clones of non-comformist beings, desperately searching for that identity we know we have. We have such confidence in ourselves because of those before us and what they have become, but when the next generation steps forward, we start feeling pangs of nostalgia for the person we were, despite the pain we went through then.

Do you miss feeling alive? Or do you miss feeling dead, like I do?


This was in a story written by a friend (amongst other stories we craft in our world's eyes). It was between worlds that I could feel alive, but the consequence came when you stepped out, and found everything in ruins.

I remember who I was, how I assumed I was absorbing pain because I was dead (killed by pain). But actually, I was deflecting it, with the mentality that dead people felt naught. Had it taken so long to admit that I feel? I have said this before, and I feel ashamed to say it again. You wouldn't recognise me a few years from now. I had such hope, then there was the drastic let-down, disappointment at every corner of hope, and finally, blocking everyone out. Now? I'm opening out, slowly, like a flower; cautiously, like a child; lovingly, like a mother. I have finally learnt love, real love, and I know gratitude.

I would, if I could, blame many people for who I turned out to be. But I don't, because the journey was worth it. A hole was made, but it was made for Him. And now, my life couldn't be any better.

I am finally alive, and I know thousands would be echoing my words at this moment. Because these, these are the crucial years. These, these are the years of change, of new hope, of chances. We, as in the entire world (just count them), are in this together. Despite circumstance, we are all facing the same thing, the same emotions, the same struggle, the same people, the same hope, the same yearning.

You've heard it before, these are the best years of our lives. You know why? Because these are the worst. These are first lethargic steps you take before you run.

How long will it take for you to realise you love to run?