Very Late

Yes, it's damn late.

Despite warnings of the repercussions of staying up late, I still find myself hanging around, usually at this hour, listening to plain cold music, fighting with myself. Perhaps it is Peace and Serenity that I yearned for, the two brothers that are wanting in everyday's cares. Security flows from the feeling of being in the solitude and silence of the spot, a kind of sentimental shield

Looking at people and their company, I feel small and irrelevant. I mentioned in one of my posts about the disappointment of not being invited, of not being asked to be in the script. It is not about numbers, but the quality of those sentiments, that make me feel this way, out of place. There is no hole to drill through the solid wall, and standing outside the structure I hear laughter coming from inside, its genuineness mocking my heart's content. It is extremely disgruntled to feel disappointment, but there is no such justification for that in complicated matters such as this. There is 'perhaps' and 'maybe' , but the two of them are not an iota helpful when discernment and judgment is in dire need.

The strength of human civilisation has always been humanity, and the ability to feel. Sometimes, though, I feel that this is also a most prominent weakness, failing which will bring mortals to their knees. We see, we feel. We think, we care. We declare that we have nothing to do with It, and following up is a statement betraying the heart. By caring we are humans, by caring we are subjected to the grinding of subjectivity, ever so tormenting and relentless, until we wished we are but dust.

It is all so disappointing. Where will I have energy to handle all these? My sinew and strength can only serve me this far. The heart is a miser, yet it is powerful. Where will I have the time to tackle these? Putting heart and soul into the tunnel, I looked back and saw that light represents all those wasted years gone away.

I should think that I will stop now, and not strive any longer. It is not fair, and it is fighting with Fate. Fate is a powerful god, and it is not afraid of mortals. A man can only go against his Fate so much, and the effort may cost him dearly. But will the heart let go?

Even the wisest sage will not be able to answer to this, nor offer a solution. The heart knows its bitterness, and no stranger shares its joy. Perhaps this is what I cannot fight against, or a river will drown me.

I used to fight my way through; now I quietly accept my exile.