I failed again.
In my loneliest nights, those sticky shadows creeps in. They cloud me from God’s limitless grace. Blind and deaf. I failed again.
The corner of my room is the warmest cliff I have ever visited. Gallant and deafening wind became my comfort. O darkness I fell, indulge me in the blankest sheet you proposed. Unveil the beast of my past, time-traveler. I long for the relativity of time. Instruct me with your deepest tangled-thoughts. We shall be exiled far from exaltation’s horizon. We will tend our bleeding wound with salted sin.
That night.. is a portrait of my dismembered mind and heart; savagely ripped from common sense.
They call me headstrong. Extrapolation of utopian-but-harmonised answer leads to it, maybe. They chose to see me as idealist instead of delusional. Occasionally, world pissed me off, but my head never accepted its slightest ridicule. Bandaged in dream and nobel goal, I forced my way. Somehow I get away with it for almost 20 years.
Until one stomp of hard rejection, I’m on a slippery slope of failure. The fall of confidence, chronic & progressive solitary bubble, extreme touchy-feely, fear in a form of perfectionism, all wrapped up in a society-familiar term: introvert.
The misconception about introvert “doesn’t enjoy social event” and the uprising popularity of MBTI and Jungian Typology colored the years of my truth-seeking mind. The madness going over to divide people into extrovert and introvert, in order to pseudoanalyst their traits and justify their misbehavior added up a pressure on my back.
“They don’t understand.”
I embraced the glorious serenity of “me time”. It helped me harnest ideas from my head. Some, if not most, do experienced the same thing, they maximized their depression as a channel to liquidify and boil their works. I kinda like the word “saturation” to explain this phenomenon, in a way it is aligned with “no art is born without sadness” said by one of an artist.
Nothing’s wrong, really. Everything flows with its constantly changing current. Nothing, until it bumped my threshold and causing explosion here and there. Mood swing, broad range of emotion in a matter of seconds, so-called laziness, not-typical-INFP kind of mess. It rusted my dream, decayed by time. Dragged from among the stars, speared into graveyard’s door.
I failed again.
The constant back and forth between Future and Past was (maybe, and is) the theme of my head’s timeline. Burned everything in between.
I never lived.
I am an insignificant dust in Chrono’s world. Bouncing between two polars powered by trauma and dream.
In the end, I managed to finish my study; medicine.
The end of one hell of a phase. This should be my turning. This should be the exact one point where change is inevitable. Knowledge may be the key, but it always changes and I need a perfect ground to stand tall.
I should be over but limitless grace sustains. I need to find a rock to balance my failure, to appreciate and not to underestimate the weight of it brings.
I should look up and climb. I should look down and thank.
I should move forward, and try leave my past with peace.
I must learn to cast the mantra more often: I am ultimately weak but His grace made perfect in it.
December 25th, 2016.
Happy Born Day, Christ the Messiah.
You are, indeed, Prince of Peace.