Peregrination

 

Everyday, we caress our emotions like broken homeless people, carving hope in the cold pavement we erroneously call home, when in fact we’re just passing by. We can’t hold on for long to something untenable even if it feels so perfect; we just can’t stay at the same place forever. Human journey is just as far as we can hold on breathing. Much of that notion lies at the fact that at some point, when some of us reach a crossroad, our hearts turn numb and our minds get suspended at a pendulum of expectations that swing our hopes nonstop, only to hurt us ineffably until we shrink at the backdrop of our own frailties. Some things bind us tight on the belief of life’s arbitrariness. Each moment becomes a gambit and we cast our dice uncertain of what fate has in store for us. Never mind what color of thick layers of blinders we put on our eyes because our defeatist self is always ready to embrace false percepts of reality. Thus, we follow the lead of the crowd along the fences of our own self- imposed limits; the flow of structured life: frigid, dull and distant. Just look around and see how people make shovels out of their weak spirits and dig their own graves. Hopelessness abounds; pessimism drumbeats the agonizing message of unhappiness. Sadly, this is a piece of tragedy destined to haunts us all each time. We are, after all, mere humans; no single juncture in our life is actually meant to be the same or eternal. So, we walk on. No one really dares to stop. But here’s one truth about life: even if a destination is a made-up lie, we’ll get there still and find it real. Our will keeps our fortitude; our decisions in life make us who we are at the end. But it wouldn’t’ hurt to be bold and pause for a while amidst humanity’s procession in life’s narrow path. For I tell you, desolation is home even for the fools who halt the journey to appreciate a rose by the roadside.

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