The Only Enemy.

وكان يشتهى أن يشبع من الخرنوب الذى كانت الخنازير تأكله، فلا يعطيه أحد - لوقا 15:16

And I couldn’t help but compare where I was and where I am now… And there was the new definition of brutality. Questions are not made of words, but of knives that are made of steel. The what-have-I-done dilemma is like a Samurai fight scene from a Japanese movie that has made it to the American charts, with the sounds of clashing long swords and flying warriors over walls and all – all in my head. Let alone the can-I-ever-get-a-second-chance whirl of uncertainty, which sucks out the air from your lungs and leaves your eyes dry from tears that need to fall. Needless to mention, the what-was-I-thinking and the do-I-deserve-a-second-chance-in-the-first-place. All of course, are masters at infusing me with self-loathing, guilt and sweet temptation to further linger in a filthy abyss.

Years ago I would have fallen with eyes closed and had hands to catch me, but now, I find ways to coil my limbs during the fall so that I only get bruised – rather than hit my head or lose sight or grow a Donald-Duck sort of head-soreness with flying birds and/or stars around it… and of course be in a state that allows me to go to my too-white-collarish job the next morning. And the bruises never last long, for they are refreshed with new ones. And I forget the pain… but I don’t forget him. Tell this to Purgatorio and he’d tell you “He’ll be back” with that slow-Bango voice of his. Tell this to Gouda and he’d say “I am proud you made the comparison” with his manly voice of confidence. Tell this to H. and she’d blabber out “There is hope” with a tone that tells you she is far from convinced of what she’s saying. Tell this to him… “Now it’s her turn to suffer,” with a tone I’ve never heard before.

I am my only enemy.