The Rising

I remember it so well-- in my early years to attempt to walk and run; and in my first time to stumble and realize the pain of bruised knees and hands— but I still don’t understand why I never cried until I saw my mom coming to get me. 



Some four years ago I vowed that for each fall I make I should see myself with a bold heart rising.

I thought that I have been thru all the most depressing and enduring turbulences in life. I thought that all looming problems are manageable and that any possible pains are bearable. Now, I feel drooping—as I have never felt before.

After making innumerable scapegoats, as I have run out of subjects and objects for my faultfinding-- I no longer know what to do.

Where does my way of life lead to?

I always knew I can make it. I always believed that every dream is at hand. There was no impossible dream for me because I believed so much in myself. I assumed I was strong and wise—almost infallible. Yet I was nothing but arrogant and stubborn. Once in my life I foresaw my future. There was a certainty of my success. I made the prediction using precise calculations—a prophecy almost. However, the future I refer to must have been happening right now. There must be wrong in something. Is there a delay in God’s blessings?

Now, where do I find my scattered pieces? And more complicatedly, how do I start putting together those fragments? I had two choices—one easy and one unimaginably difficult. I could opt to stay as I was, continue as I was, and get worsened as I was; far easier than deciding to elevate myself from the bottom by pre-requisitely finding and gathering my broken and scattered scraps.