Many times people tell me, and at most instances I tell people that mistakes are not meant to crush us but to build us. It’s always easier said than done, right? And also it’s easier when we advise people in tough situations, and we tell them to be strong and not to let go of the little strength. “Hold on to this and it will make you an even better person.” I tell most of my friends and sometimes I think about their situations and think, they will get over it and even believe it.
Are we just hypocrites who listen passively and assume that we understand? Because if we did understood it, then it would be easier when we go through the tough times of life. Some years ago, my mother told me that we never learn from other people’s stories but from a page of our own. Then why are we advised to have friends, look at the mistakes they make and never make them if in the end, you only learn from things that happen to you? A while back, my cousin’s status read, “it takes going through shit to realize shit.”
Then you wonder, are somethings meant to teach you things about life and strengthen you, or are they just meant to crush you?
Damn, I am so tired even lifting my fingers on this keyboard is a huge problem. I wonder when I will finish this piece. Or isn’t meant to end? Dante went through a lot of emotional turmoil when he was writing ‘Inferno’ and sometimes had to take a break to calm himself down. But who am I kidding? I am no Dante.
I am just a naïve human being whose life has not yet sprout out but then the sun looks deem. I wonder if I will germinate or will I reach my horizon too soon.
My mother would tell me to turn to the Bible, my father would tell me to go to the psychologist.
Ashley Monroe and Train sang a song and somewhere it goes,
“These bruises make for better conversation. Everybody has bruises.” Sure I talk to my friend and she shares her story. For a moment, I think, yes, these things are meant to be shared. We laugh and for a while, I forget just how painful it is. I could even joke about it with some strangers who always think I am acting or just being funny. Then, my friend and I part ways, and saying goodbye makes me want to cry. I hold on to the hug tight. Then I wave for a long time not wishing for the moment to be over.
Then reality strikes again. That was not just a story I was sharing about a friend of mine. No. It wasn’t even about my favorite series. No. It is about me. It is not about my past. It my livelihood. The walk from the stage to my house is a scary one, not because it’s dark and the scary men in the same darkness.
Then I insert my key into the padlock and open the door. This house is too big. And cold. But then I cannot handle a roommate. The first thing I see is that mirror on the wall. And the truth is right there. Facing me in the eye. Almost laughing at me. And it’s scary…