I can’t anymore recall when I made a pact with myself to keep all my frustrations, angst, and anger inside. To keep it trapped and wait for it to burst. Believing that when it bursts, I would finally break myself from the chains of my incapacities that bind me content with my life. Afraid of taking risks, I’ve only taken myself to the last step over the cliff but never had the guts to jump. And though at times, it felt that I have jumped, I wake up one morning, realizing, I’ve only bent down to see what’s below and felt the rush but never really jumped. It has taken the better of me. I’ve made more than enough wrong decisions to undue any genuine feeling
of triumph and achievement I’ve earned. Thinking about it makes my heart beat harder. It makes me visualize the consequences I may have put myself into. But there are times that thinking about it makes me feel its my only weapon against succumbing to a state of mind that I can’t change the course of my life. That with it, I have a weapon to fight with. That I’ve actually done something that makes me feel that I alone hold the reigns to the chariot of my destiny.
