Time exists. There always are both past and present and future. Alas we do have the scarce to unfold the future and so it's not counted anyway. Often it pushes me to wonder, what if there was a twist in the past, even a minor one, that all of them will round up making all the pieces of the puzzle completely aggregated into one single - the present - now.
Rather than figuring the possibilities in a puzzling daze, I unwittingly caught a glance at something. It was a stack of photo albums. Blowing off the dust in shallow curiosity, I revealed the contents. Oh, those were photographs of memorable past. The ever so beautiful memoirs where my parents came about marrying each other, and with that, I was here seventeen years and three months ago.
So there isn't really anything to doubt about. There isn't anything larger than love that could bring me into this world. Still, I believe in silent faith, there are still many empty, indiscernible, unseen souls pondering around us, waiting in queue for their departure, and their arrival to this world. Just how many as blessed as me myself to be born this way, just how many, if you had been into any places, happened to visit any hell on earth, like any of the houses where the disabled ones were compelled into, like any of the needy on the driest continent of Africa, who, still murmur in tacit prayers, emptily hoping for a miracle to happen, vacantly beseeching for the most basic rights and virtues to embrace them, and that could just be below impossibility.
I have everything some people might die for. I have everything some people would not have sought forever. Bitterness of humanity crushes mankind on every corner of the world. The world's so huge I've no rights to complain. Injustice surfaces everywhere so frequently I've no rights to falsify my basic duties as a human being.
Three weeks ago I've been known to a news about a twenty six year old man committing suicide jumping off an overpass, my dad's friend's son, just because of some very teeny-weeny financial overshoots, and that ends his life.
If I happened to meet him somewhere by chance, his soul, or spirit, whatever, he must be regretting for killing himself. Life's so greatly precious he was NOT given the due to perish his own. Come on, think, many more lives out there are still struggling, striving in the hardest way, in excruciatingly bitter adversities, just to keep their pulse beat everyday, every moment, every single millisecond. WHY WAS IT SO HARD TO KEEP LIVING, IF YOU WERE GIVEN EVERY GODDAMN NECESSITY YOU'D HAVE NEEDED, EVERYTHING SINCE YOUR GOD BLESSED BIRTH? Half a potato and a handful of muddy water could keep a person living on the poorest land in the world, and why the hell had he chosen to jump off the building, ending the life that each of those poor people would be dying for?
If you are still now complaining about life, about having to work or study everyday without some breathing space you ever so wanted, about how short the time your parents have been allowing you in front of the computer screen, about how little money your parents have been giving you, or, about how annoying the time when the closest people around you breath down your neck, then go ahead, because life already seems just utterly meaningless to you.
If there is a chance, I do wish to feel the way of living in any poor lands on Earth. Because life seems just too hard and those people, mostly, could still bite hard to keep it pacing forward. Even any of them are born in the dirtiest surroundings, born in the poorest family, we should always salute them, for they never talk about giving up life, nor would they ever think of committing suicide. Because each of them truly knows, life is treasure, a godly present that God had chosen few to grant.
So how am I going to value life? For me it's simple. STOP COMPLAINING. Life isn't just about complaining about the bad ones and cherishing the good ones. Life is a black and white, both good and bad come to you simultaneously. Once you complain a word about life, you are taking it for granted.
Open your eyes. You are damn blessed. And please, be grateful, ever so.
Rather than figuring the possibilities in a puzzling daze, I unwittingly caught a glance at something. It was a stack of photo albums. Blowing off the dust in shallow curiosity, I revealed the contents. Oh, those were photographs of memorable past. The ever so beautiful memoirs where my parents came about marrying each other, and with that, I was here seventeen years and three months ago.
So there isn't really anything to doubt about. There isn't anything larger than love that could bring me into this world. Still, I believe in silent faith, there are still many empty, indiscernible, unseen souls pondering around us, waiting in queue for their departure, and their arrival to this world. Just how many as blessed as me myself to be born this way, just how many, if you had been into any places, happened to visit any hell on earth, like any of the houses where the disabled ones were compelled into, like any of the needy on the driest continent of Africa, who, still murmur in tacit prayers, emptily hoping for a miracle to happen, vacantly beseeching for the most basic rights and virtues to embrace them, and that could just be below impossibility.
I have everything some people might die for. I have everything some people would not have sought forever. Bitterness of humanity crushes mankind on every corner of the world. The world's so huge I've no rights to complain. Injustice surfaces everywhere so frequently I've no rights to falsify my basic duties as a human being.
Three weeks ago I've been known to a news about a twenty six year old man committing suicide jumping off an overpass, my dad's friend's son, just because of some very teeny-weeny financial overshoots, and that ends his life.
If I happened to meet him somewhere by chance, his soul, or spirit, whatever, he must be regretting for killing himself. Life's so greatly precious he was NOT given the due to perish his own. Come on, think, many more lives out there are still struggling, striving in the hardest way, in excruciatingly bitter adversities, just to keep their pulse beat everyday, every moment, every single millisecond. WHY WAS IT SO HARD TO KEEP LIVING, IF YOU WERE GIVEN EVERY GODDAMN NECESSITY YOU'D HAVE NEEDED, EVERYTHING SINCE YOUR GOD BLESSED BIRTH? Half a potato and a handful of muddy water could keep a person living on the poorest land in the world, and why the hell had he chosen to jump off the building, ending the life that each of those poor people would be dying for?
If you are still now complaining about life, about having to work or study everyday without some breathing space you ever so wanted, about how short the time your parents have been allowing you in front of the computer screen, about how little money your parents have been giving you, or, about how annoying the time when the closest people around you breath down your neck, then go ahead, because life already seems just utterly meaningless to you.
If there is a chance, I do wish to feel the way of living in any poor lands on Earth. Because life seems just too hard and those people, mostly, could still bite hard to keep it pacing forward. Even any of them are born in the dirtiest surroundings, born in the poorest family, we should always salute them, for they never talk about giving up life, nor would they ever think of committing suicide. Because each of them truly knows, life is treasure, a godly present that God had chosen few to grant.
So how am I going to value life? For me it's simple. STOP COMPLAINING. Life isn't just about complaining about the bad ones and cherishing the good ones. Life is a black and white, both good and bad come to you simultaneously. Once you complain a word about life, you are taking it for granted.
Open your eyes. You are damn blessed. And please, be grateful, ever so.
