I used to hate staying at home. I hated being there. I hated seeing them. I hated feeling guilty knowing how much I have neglected them. I hated seeing the need in their eyes. The need for me.
Though everything is at peace now, between me and my family, sadness overwhelms me whenever I think of all the time I have wasted not being with them. I'd begin wondering how many more years God would grant my parents to make memories with us. Then I'd begin wishing I could just throw all obligations aside and just spend every waking moment with my family. *Sigh*
I find it laughable, people who seem so all-knowing. People who walk cushioned by their boastful air of self-confidence and unedending wisdom. It's comical really.
*Sigh* This is still one of the million moments I wish I could just bury myself into the earth and let time pass me by. To just be. To be one with the whining of the wind as it combs through the thick mane of the tall lush green grasses on a far away meadow where the flowers of the earth remain undistrurbed. To be one with the clouds, where the sun enjoys playing picasso using the sky as its limitless canvass, splashing magnificent colors of orange, red blue, purple, yellow and green. To be one with the sound of nothing, consumed only by peace . . . nothing more.
Is it normal? To feel so tired, to be so disinheartened with life, to be so confused and without direction, to be so empty. Is it a crime against the expectations of people to be so weak?
Perhaps I am a disappointment, but I answer only to God.
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