The long period between birth and death is what we commonly call "life" that is the period when we exist to witness and execute all sorts of atrocities and conversely, the revered measures the world has to offer. It makes us ride the wave and live on the surface, missing out on our gifts.
Looking back to where I came from - the unpleasant times, the appalling, dreadful years of my miserable past, the times when I was deprived, dispossessed and cast out by the ones I considered to be dear to me - causes inevitable streams of tears run down my cheeks. In my mind, I relive the pain, my wounds bleed again, but in my heart, I have found peace and healing, brought forth by gradually learning to forgive.
Countless, excruciating memories run around in my head, reminiscent of a young girl who was physically and emotionally abused beyond repair in every aspect. It is difficult for me to look at the scars that I still carry with me today. Memories of sleepless nights and sobbing in silent whimpers, memories of involuntary fasting and frailty - such recollections haphazardly flash in and out of my mind, and each giving a gravely melancholic sensation - most would imagine this to be yet another farfetched folktale.
How do you recover from a wound that is within? How do you ever rise up and walk when you have been mutilated down to your feet? How do you ever recover from public humiliation? How do you restore your sense of being when your dignity has been ripped apart? How do such pains heal? Do they ever?
I once heard from an old woman, that life has its rises and falls, but how deep do we ever get, and how difficult does it become to rise again? Yes, we do fall and it is natural to most of us to succumb to it and give up; on the other hand, hard as it is I believe - it is always rewarding to soldier on, fight, stand for the truth and defy failure.
It fuels me to look at so many people that have lived their lives like combatants. The black woman, who refused to sit at the back of the bus, be separated, and judged by the color of her skin during the race struggle in America. The man who endured twenty seven years of his life behind bars and never capitulated, the man who was mocked, scorned, ridiculed and was crucified for edifying the truth, and many more who have been militants and fighters because they believed.
When life takes you through its rapids, the avalanches, falls, ups and downs, it is wise that you gain strength through it all, because, behind every great achievement celebrated and triumph commemorated, lies challenges, thus, unless we stand for the truth and fight on, that moment of greatness shall never come to us - besides if you pursue complete authenticity, you are bound to offend a large number of people.
This is when the question arises, "Where do you get the strength?"