I’ve never hated my life before

I’ve never hated my life before.

I had an amazing family.

I still do.

I had an amazing circle of friends.

I still do.

I had an amazing life.

That, I can’t say I still do, though.

I’ve never hated my life before.

Until someone died and made you king.

And you thought you could just trample all over me.

I’ve never hated my life before.

But you had me cornered.

I am stuck.

I have nowhere else to go.

I am pinned to the wall by your cruel, cunning discrimination of me.

The only way out is down.

I’ve never hated my life before.

I never understood what others meant when they said, ‘FML’.

They look like initials for a sports league, if you asked me.

But now I know.

And even though I am still able to control myself from cursing my own life,

It doesn’t mean I am not hurting.

I’ve never hated my life before.

I know I have every right to be angry.

About what you’re putting me through.

About the vicious insinuations of my weaknesses that you throw my way.

About you ruining me right before the eyes of my family.

I’ve never hated any part of my life before.

But now I do.

Especially that part with you in it.

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Who am I

Who am I?
That’s a very common exercise in a kindergartener/first-grader’s book. The children are often given clues like: ‘I have a long trunk’ or ‘I have no legs’ or ‘I swing from tree to tree’. On top of that, they are also given an illustration of what it really is next to the clues.
Recently, I am forced to ask myself this question.

Who am I?
Unlike those excercises, mine does not come with clues. Just chaotic evidence of what/who I am not.

I am not who I thought I could be.
I am not who I ought to be.
I am not as capable as I hope to be.
I am not good enough for many things in my life.
I am not running my own life.
I am not the one to decide who I should be.
And I certainly am not anywhere near what/who people expect me to be.
I am just not.

I tried to pray but for someone who could always pray spontaneously, I couldn’t think of what to say. I am at a lost for words and thoughts. It’s my dark night of the soul…

My only hope is that somewhere deep within me, there is still a bit of the ‘me’ I hope to be, left. So I may someday rise from this and be someone I must be.

Someday, too, the Lord will come to my aid and set me free when he reveals the ultimate truth. And before that day comes, I shall be one who holds no grudges.

When this thought came to my mind as I was driving home today, I heard a tiny voice saying to me, “And that’s who you are… One who holds no grudges.”

Something for the kids

“Wen,” I heard Papa called me by my household name. “Are you at home? I have something for the kids.”

Even though he was talking to me on the phone, I could see him standing outside the house, completely healthy with his eyesight and no amputation.

“We’re out, Papa. There’s no one home,” I said.

“Ok, I’ll come by again later.”

This recurred one more time before I awoke from my sleep.

‘He’s well!’ I thought to myself. ‘He’s not blind! And he’s standing on both legs!’

About half-a-minute later, reality set in when I realised that Papa had already left us almost 18 months ago…