It's like - one day of every week - I get punched. And more often than not, life's boxing skills knock me out. Each time I try to get back up, I feel as though the strength I use to stand up again is the last shred. But I keep fighting. Throwing counter punches half of the time. Rolling with it, the other half. Hoping to win a fight that's long been determined to be lost.
For sure, people mostly think of me as someone who is bitch enough to outbitch the best slut, commonly known as life. People imagine me to be that person who can slap life immediately after it pulls my hair and will spit on its face after bringing it down on the floor. And maybe, they're right. I'm the type of person who's likely to kick some ass. But this ability still kind of suprises me.
When you watch boxers brawling inside the ring, you know somehow that the fight eventually is going to end and a winner will be hailed. Reality's ring is a bit of a different story. You get knocked down a number of times and you get up with the uncertainty of an ending. The strength that you think is your last won't be your last. It will keep on increasing without you noticing. Until you have enough strength to go on. Yes, to go on - again and again and again.
There are times when I think I'm getting on weakly. Too weakly, that is. I barely even recognize the fact that, wow, I'm actually getting by. And then people applaud me for being invincible which gives me a weird feeling because being the one - if not the only one - who knows what I'm going through, I know how I'm putting up a fight. And to be honest, there are days when I feel like I'm only standing up because there's nothing to choose from. Which for me isn't really a sign of strength... but the otherwise.
I cry, too. I cry in front of people who know I'm a well of tears. I break down in front of people who didn't even think I could be such a mess. I cry in times when I don't know how I could remain brave and yet couldn't handle defeat. And then there I go again, picking up the pieces. Because really, what other options do I have?
Signs of weakness. Or weakness in its utter self.
But I'm still here. I fell down a hundred times, will definitely fall down a thousand times more and I'm still managing to stand up. One day, I hope I start to appreciate this ability to beat life sucker punch to sucker punch. And that I will be able to use it not only to selfishly make sense of what's happening around me but also to lift people up who are inches before the ground. Even better? I pray that I can be other people's strength in their moments of weakness, especially in moments that I am capable.
For sure, people mostly think of me as someone who is bitch enough to outbitch the best slut, commonly known as life. People imagine me to be that person who can slap life immediately after it pulls my hair and will spit on its face after bringing it down on the floor. And maybe, they're right. I'm the type of person who's likely to kick some ass. But this ability still kind of suprises me.
When you watch boxers brawling inside the ring, you know somehow that the fight eventually is going to end and a winner will be hailed. Reality's ring is a bit of a different story. You get knocked down a number of times and you get up with the uncertainty of an ending. The strength that you think is your last won't be your last. It will keep on increasing without you noticing. Until you have enough strength to go on. Yes, to go on - again and again and again.
There are times when I think I'm getting on weakly. Too weakly, that is. I barely even recognize the fact that, wow, I'm actually getting by. And then people applaud me for being invincible which gives me a weird feeling because being the one - if not the only one - who knows what I'm going through, I know how I'm putting up a fight. And to be honest, there are days when I feel like I'm only standing up because there's nothing to choose from. Which for me isn't really a sign of strength... but the otherwise.
I cry, too. I cry in front of people who know I'm a well of tears. I break down in front of people who didn't even think I could be such a mess. I cry in times when I don't know how I could remain brave and yet couldn't handle defeat. And then there I go again, picking up the pieces. Because really, what other options do I have?
Signs of weakness. Or weakness in its utter self.
But I'm still here. I fell down a hundred times, will definitely fall down a thousand times more and I'm still managing to stand up. One day, I hope I start to appreciate this ability to beat life sucker punch to sucker punch. And that I will be able to use it not only to selfishly make sense of what's happening around me but also to lift people up who are inches before the ground. Even better? I pray that I can be other people's strength in their moments of weakness, especially in moments that I am capable.
