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If I were stripped of my writing ability, I do not know what would
become of me. It seems like it is the only thing that is going for
me, and the only thing I get negligible recognition for. And it is
the only breathing space my soul can run to whenever I get too
caught up with the world. Somehow, it allows me to move from one
world to the next; as though I get to live again in another form
after each death I face.
And in my journeys, I am often alone. I have too
many feathers in my cap, which enables me to be a lone flier. I
often profess that I would never trade my life for any Hollywood
star or billionaire’s, but, it could be just some sort of excuse
or escape for me.
Oftentimes I feel like I am the only one of my
kind, as though something unpredicted is waiting for me. My body may
be composed of water but my spirit is purely of fire. Either way,
like these two elements, I do not know where I am flowing to and
where my ashes will lay after the blaze ends.
It is so lonely that I get to see all these
amazing things in my mind; my eyes barely being able to keep up; my
fingers, raring to write them down. But something in me selfishly
shackles those visions as though they were meant for my eyes alone.
I have always tried my best in everything, but
somehow, things never come out that way I prayed for it to be. Maybe
it’s just not for me, or opposed to what I think, I really did not
give my best. And that’s when I learn. That’s when I add up the
feathers in my cap. Most of my accolades are not really great awards
but more of trials and defeats that are too much for someone my age
could endure.
I try to look deeper than the surface, make
sense where there is none. I try to make out something of my life,
and I know that in the end, I will always be defeated; for I know I
was not born into it; I am just knocking on the pavement. But then
only in your march to defeat can you see the things that you never
knew you could. Maybe I am stubborn, but then I adamantly use my
pick to break that mountain apart, even though I know it is an
impossible feat. But I just keep on going, starting from the foot,
until I realize that I have to climb up and start chipping the
mountain from the top, before I could shatter the entire mountain.
In my journeys I also have my foundation buried
in my satchel, amid a ton of fairy-tale books. I now understand the
farce I’ve enjoyed and delighted in as a child, but then I
realized that the only truth in those fairy tales is that you have
to be beautiful to be the star of your story. You cannot be the ugly
stepsister. That is the only truth in those pages. The good manners
and all the other nice stuff in those stories die out as you reach
consciousness. And it’s sad that not a lot of people get to go
beyond the mindset of a 15-year-old.
I can find solace in my friends or family, but
then at the end of the day, it is only my own voice that can answer
my questions, and no matter how much I try to run away from what is
now, I can never go back to the past to change things nor can I rush
to the future for it is the path that you travel step after step,
groping blindly and only seeing that one step has a million options
and one slight decision can lead you somewhere.
Also, I have tried chasing after Serendipity,
but then she does not like to befriend me. I have often tried
signing up for a blind date with Destiny but then the
philanderer’s more into the women he could sleep with.
There are so many things I want to be and will
not accept that this is all I am confined to. But for now, I will
lounge in my misery. No lampoons, witticisms or wordplays for this
week. Just setting my soul free; for it is the only way to keep your
sanity. 
merrylane@live.com
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