Kochi, thought of as a can of storm clouds, synchronies with Govind's mood. With time the once lively canvasses of his dreams had faded away and all that was left were their shadows in a neglected diary. Surfing through social media at stormy nights, each photo a glorious post card from a life he was not living, Govind felt the heartbreak. Prompted by that overwhelming desire, he messaged Neha, a ray of sunshine in his college days. A reunion was arranged. The city, engulfed in gloom, acted as the setting for their meeting at a tiny café. Govind's heart surfaced, admitting the void that had consumed him. Neha was listening with a tear rolling on her face. "Life's a cruel joke, Govind," she confessed in a faint voice. "We run after dreams that vanish when we draw too close to them. Perhaps, after all, dreams aren't that much important in the larger picture of things." Govind looked outside and the buildings blurred.  Her words shattered the fragile hope clinging to him. Was this life the same as a storm, and then the return to normal routine? The café isolated him, the city lights laughing at him. It was hard to tell which day was which as they all ran into each other. Then, there was a resounding knock that broke the monotony. Here is Neha, an old photo album in her hand. It was their college album, an emblem of their dreams realized. They sat; the album a time bridge spanning years. Every old image is like a window to a time when something can be done. An image of festival, happiness glowing in the eyes of youngsters. Another, the arms slung around each other, a sign of the past closeness. Each image is like a shard of a broken mirror – reflecting joy and shattering the illusion of their imagined futures. It couldn't be the future they have been planning for. Silence was all around, only the wind mourning outside. Neha began to speak, her voice quavering. " I went back, Govind" she confessed. "Travelled, ticked things off a list. But..." That was how she saw it in Govind's eyes – the displeasure, the sense that there was no longer any magic in dreams. "It wasn't enough," she whispered. "The chasing never ends." The album fell open to a blank page – it was an abstract representation of their unfulfilled dreams. A bottomless sadness invaded Govind. They weren't only mourning their dreams; they were grieving the life they could have shared together. Neha put her hand on him, the gesture of united grief. They weren't just individuals, but rather the shattered image of what could have been. A rumble of thunder accentuated the silence. Neha stood up her chin raised and her face shining with sorrow and determination. "I am sorry, but I have to go," she said. "But Govind, perhaps life isn't about great gestures. Maybe it's these small, everyday moments, the people we meet and the love we share?" She finished and then she went but her words stayed, a small spark of hope set in the arctic of his warm heart. He gazed at the photo album and the white page before him a frightening sight. On the other hand, he was filled with gloom, but, as he tried to find it, he recalled their joint past – the laughter, the friendship, the tacit understanding that they had between them. Neha was right. Maybe life isn't about achieving the greatness. Perhaps it was about the bonds he had forged, the times he lived to the fullest, and the love he had for the people in his life. Govind was touched , a lone tear rolling down his cheek. He could no longer regain the past, but at least, he could decide to exist in the present. Maybe, yes, maybe indeed it was still possible to see beauty in the ordinary things. The rains came to an end, opening a narrow slit of moonlight. It wasn't a loud glare, but an enlightened glow, a hope for a brighter tomorrow. He approached the window, to his surprise, determination started to replace the despair. He wouldn't be a slave to his dreams but he wouldn't omit them either. He carried them with him like a memento, both a reminder of the past and a guide to the future. Kochi used to be in some sort of darken. Now, it sparkled under the pale moon. It was still alive with activity. He breathed deeply. He didn't know what would happen next, but it was the first time in a while that he felt the smallest glimpse of optimism. He might be at loose ends, but he wouldn't sink anyway. He will continue to search for meaning, for purpose, for connection and, who knows, perhaps he will find his own unique melody in the symphony of life.

If Father's Day hits you anything like Mother's Day hits me, I would imagine your thoughts are casting images of your unmet dreams and countless regrets of the parent you tell yourself you ‘should have' been. It's so absolutely hard not to fall prey to the father of lies on days that cast through our defenses. For now, and until your last breath you can count on your family in Christ's PRAY to be 1000X's greater than Satan's prey of lies. I sit in church as I write this letter to you, my brothers in Christ, hearing …. ‘This is my story, this is my song…perfect submission…filled with His goodness, lost in His love' being sung by a multitude of people with their souls longing to receive the validation of being relevant on this Earth. Your life, brother, is unlike any book read. Why?-- Because your story book is enteral—it lives on forever. This may seem odd or overwhelming. I get that you may be thinking ‘Are you about to get weird?' but as Frankie Mazzapica says, “No, I'm about to get spiritual”. The world of heartache that consumes a father's heart right this very moment is merely the close AND start to a chapter of your story. Your story is your testimony and testimonies replace the chaotic spiraling those falling prey to lies with JOY by casting light on TRUTH that reveals hopes, dreams, blessings, and opens hardened hearts (Ezekiel 36:26-27). ‘Test' is in the word testimony. God's in this with you, brother. He's calling upon you because HE longs for YOU because on this day, your true Father wants nothing more than you to experience His love and for that experience to go past a feeling in your heart and into a transformation of your self-image/worldview. Satan has been attacking you on all fronts. He doesn't attack weak men. He doesn't attack men unless God created you to be a warrior, intended to conquer lies and capture hearts during your time THIS SIDE OF ETERNITY. Brother, your purpose, your gifts, and yes even your failures are crucial to life right here, right now! I implore you to open your heart to the possibilities God has waiting for you with or without the status of your occupation. The sword you weld is far more powerful than anything ‘the job' brings. So many men and women like you NEED YOU to speak into the lies Satan has been using to rip their lives apart. One thing I KNOW is that He is desperate for joining his son's (YOUR) life. Right now, today, and all the days thereafter. Isaiah 49:16 “I have tattooed your name on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me.” Grasping onto things like addiction, trauma, resentment is like living on the dirty side of a hurricane longing to reach the eye of the storm for a quick reprieve only to be spit right back out on the dirty side. It's a fleeting moment similar to striving to 'feel happy'. Recovery (wellness) is living on the edge of the clean side-- knowing with one slip of a choice you risk being pulled right around to the dirty side again. While I can't promise the journey to Recovery (wellness) will come with lasting feelings of happiness it will offer the opportunity to experience living in a state of Joy. This path is exhilarating and taunting all at once. It's an adventure far more rewarding than the false sense of security of reaching the eye of the storm or of watching life chaotically spiral outside our fingertips while. When I make the decision to put my pain to purpose it usually finds me staring at the crossroads of choosing between one good choice and one God choice. Life is hard, brother, and walking out those hard times is meant to be done WITH your circle of support. The center of your circle is you and the Father. I'm so thankful when our heavenly Father appears to us through the life of my brothers. Men have an especially hard job as husbands and fathers and this sister in Christ appreciates your efforts to help the world see The Father through you.

I grew up listening to tales about the television stars my dad met through his job as a carpenter and stagehand. I eagerly waited for my dad to come home from work each night to fill me in on happenings behind the camera. How I longed to meet some of those famous people. Just meeting one would make me happy, I thought as I'd drift off to sleep each night. Visions of Steve Allen and his crew, Milton Berle, and Mitch Miller danced their way through every dream. Arlene Francis became my role model. After hearing the wonderful stories of how Ms. Francis did so much for the stagehands in a tough but lady-like manner, I decided I'd grow up being just like that wonderful lady. One afternoon, my brother, Frankie, raced home from school with some incredibly interesting and exciting news. A local company comprised of young adults formed a small organization for children between the ages of 10 and 16. The purpose of this organization was to teach music and march in the neighborhood parades. It was as much to keep the kids out of trouble as it was to advertise the company. Frankie wanted to be the first to join. Now I'd have the chance to play something. The first band practice interested more than one hundred children. The elimination process lasted two weeks and among those accepted were Frankie and me. Frankie, for whatever reason, chose to learn the bugle instead of the drums and while I tried my hardest to get one note out of the bugle, it was all in vain., I found myself learning to play the bells. Soon, we were not just marching in parades but playing in movie houses when celebrities came to town to promote their latest films. Then it happened. That summer, in 1961, Troy Donahue along with his co-star, Connie Stevens, came to town. While adults ran the operation of the band, they felt as a children's band, a child should represent it. Frankie, being the oldest child in the group at age 15, seemed only natural to represent the band by shaking hands with the stars which never fazed him in the slightest. Since their arrival in town coincided with my 14th birthday, the band's owner arranged a surprise for me. As Frankie made his way to the stage, his friends hooted and hollered from the audience. To my horror and excitement, I heard that same manager call out, “And now, I'd like Donnie to come on stage. Today is Donnie's birthday and I can think of no better gift than to have her meet our guests.” I'd get to shake hands with Troy Donahue – my latest heartthrob! Connie Stevens gave me a hug while wishing me a happy birthday. Troy Donahue, then took both my hands and the crowd in the theater came to a dead quiet wanting to hear what he said to me. What seemed to be an hour, was probably no more than two minutes Mr. Donahue stared deeply into my eyes. He slowly leaned towards me and pulling me toward him, placed a huge kiss on my cheek and then whispered in my ear, “I hope your birthday is as beautiful as you are.” Late that afternoon, as I walked home with my brother, I felt as though my world crashed around me. My mother noticed a downfall in my spirits. “Donnie, what's wrong,” she asked. “I thought meeting Troy Donahue would be the highlight of your entire week.” “Oh Mom! I always dreamed of being like Daddy. Meeting famous people and having them greet you when you go to work. But this afternoon changed everything. Connie Stevens hugged me, and Troy Donahue kissed me. I waited for the star's to shine, their faces to glow or something special happen. But nothing did. Nothing! Her hug and his kiss were no different than a hug from you or a kiss from Daddy. Yours at least mean something. They're just like daddy said, they're as human as we are.” My mom smiled as she realized how much her daughter grew up in the short span of two hours. Calling her husband from another room, together, they handed me a small box. “We thought of giving this to you earlier but decided to wait until after dinner. However, now, while dinner is cooking, this seems like the perfect time. Happy Birthday, honey.” I opened the small box and found the prettiest little ring with a dark green emerald – my birthstone. I immediately put it on my finger, jumped from my chair and with both arms, grabbed my parents and hugged them tightly. “Oh, Mom, Dad! I could meet all the stars in the world and none of them could ever make me as happy as you just did.” All it took was one kiss from an adored celebrity to take the stars from my eyes and put my feet back on the ground. To this day, I will always remember that day as I laughingly call it, the day the stars fell.

Thinking about your childhood days, how many dream jobs have you had? When I was in grade school, I wanted to be a scientist simply because I love science. In high school, I had several options: I wanted to be a businessman only because I wanted to see myself in a suit and tie. I wanted to be a chef because I thought cooking with a pan in flames was cool. I wanted to be a doctor because I watched medical-themed K-drama, which inspired me. When I entered college, my passion shifted again. I took a BS in Psychology course because I thought I could read people like a book. Consequently, I wanted to become a psychologist when I graduate. As an enthusiastic student full of hopes and dreams, I saw myself finishing my Master's and Ph.D. Back then, I was sure that I would become successful in the field of Psychology. But as fate seems to like to interfere with my life that bad, I suddenly wanted to become a doctor again. A medical doctor, to be exact. I then took the National Medical Admission Test (NMAT). I put all my effort into my review, and I was glad to get a percentile rank of 93. I was all set to enroll in my dream school, but I couldn't take all the required course units due to the pandemic. I was also short on my budget, and even getting a scholarship wouldn't save me from my bills on due. I knew I had to give up this opportunity to have a more stable source of income for myself and my family. I had to rethink all the skills I can use to find a job that suits me. I knew that I needed money, but I never wanted to settle for less just because I think I'm on a dead end. I know how to draw, but I don't see myself as an artist. I love photography, but I couldn't go out and take pictures because of the pandemic. I can sing, but only with a choir. So what's left in there for me? After days of thinking, I found an answer. Finally, a 'eureka' moment! Since high school, I've always had this passion for writing. But never did I imagine that writing would eventually become my source of income. I never thought that I had a future in writing. But since I was caught in a dead-end, I had to make a new path. There's no way that I would accept defeat unless I tried everything. Here's when I decided to pursue copywriting. Copywriting is one of the highest-paying writing jobs out there. Perfect for my empty wallet and my late-bloomed passion. Guess what? I was hired by a Digital Marketing Agency even I have barely any experience! I don't know what words to describe how I felt, but I know that I was glad that they saw potential through my writing skills, and now I'm working with them for their company's success. Looking back, it's crazy how I shifted my focus from health to the marketing industry. Never would I have imagined that taking a step back and starting again will bring me to a better place where I am today. Although I still consider becoming a health professional, I'd like to take this opportunity to explore my talent and grab every opportunity that comes along the way. Can you relate to this roller coaster journey? Going back to my question: which one controls your life - free will or fate? At this point, I feel like fate has been pushing me to this path. But I do believe that my success still lies within my hands. Whether you believe that free will or fate controls your life, don't be afraid to make new paths whenever you reach a dead end. Life never stops until you stop trying. Good luck! :)

It was a warm Saturday morning in late July 1996. I was 9; almost 10. The birds were chirping in excitement, the morning dew, fresh and still, dripping from the tree leaves. I had been prepped hard for this day. Daily memory “drills”, 6 hours of schoolwork and 2 hours of home tutorials 3 times a week, learning new words and watching for current affairs updates from the local TV news. Like an athlete, I was primed, ripped and ready for this day. No stone was left unturned. My teachers rated me so highly, my parents never expected any less. I had progressed quickly through the 1st chain link of the famous 6-3-3-4 National educational system, with a “double promotion” in Class 4. Time was a blur. I kept outdoing myself, excelling in my grades and beating the competition. The National Common Entrance examination that year had been a great success, I was the best in my examination center, though one of the youngest candidates. I scored 503/600, if I re-collect. I was sure to get admitted into both Federal high schools selected. However, I wanted a lot more. Parents/Guardians were told to drop off their kids/wards at the school gate, so I parted from my mum with last minute pep-talks, prayers and "pocket money" (the favorite part). With the accreditation and registration processes completed, I was allotted a classroom and seat number. The exams started right on time. The first part – Mathematics & Quantitative Reasoning - was a landslide victory – I crunch numbers in my sleep. I needed the Part B of the exam to go just as well – English Language, Current Affairs & Verbal Reasoning. I knew the pass mark needed to secure a place at the International School, University of Lagos, one of the most prestigious high schools in Nigeria. The Part B section started after the lunch break. It was all going well till I hit a roadblock. There was an essay question, which read, "write an essay, about 150 words on 'Nigeria of my Dreams' ". I read the question again. I read it a third time. “This must be a mistake”, I thought. It didn't sound right to me. I looked around the hall, with my naive, pearly eyes. No other candidate seemed bothered. The room roared on in the ambience of a properly invigilated exam. I felt I was in trouble. How was I supposed to react? Where do I start? Do I have to fall sleep to come up with this dream? Don't we all only dream at night while we sleep? What if the heavens refuse to give me this dream within the required time frame? How do I select a specific dream, dream that dream, wake up and write about it? Would I wake up on time? I just had about 2 hours to write this exam section. I gazed at this problem statement, flipped, twitched and steered. Finally, my guardian angel whispered in my ears. “Leave this section, write the other sections and come back here”. I scrambled through the other exam sections, filled and shaded answers as the clock ticked away. Just as I finished and moved to get back to the essay question, I heard those 2 magic words, “Pens Up”. I felt it was all over. I had let myself and many people down. What would I tell my parents? How do I explain that we were asked to dream and write about it, and I couldn't do either? How could this be happening to me? “My teachers must have left this out; they did not teach me”. That was my conclusion, with my tail firmly tucked between my legs, as I walked towards the school main gate. I squinted from a distance to see if my mother was there waiting. I knew she would ask how I fared and would try to assess my body language. I had learnt not to lie to her pretty early, I wasn't taking a chance this time. I only managed to get a few in till I flew out of her nest to build mine. I happily told her that Part A went well. She knew my capabilities, no surprises here, smiles all round. Then to the bad news, Part B. I told her what happened. She listened intently, laughed and told me what was expected by the examiners. The scales instantly fell off my eyes. How was I supposed to know? I wish they framed it clearer. Could I possibly go back and fill this section? Of course, only in my dreams. I was consoled with an ice cream cone and we drove back home. My father laughed and sympathized with me but was confident I would make the pass list. The next few weeks were a nervous wait, a heavy weight. The hours and days gently strolled by. I could not bear the thoughts of failing an entrance examination into a prestigious school. My mother had left her senior teaching position at a State Secondary school and took a few steps down the career ladder to accept a teaching role at this school, just to ensure that my father only paid discounted school fees for my siblings and I. How could I let her down? How could I let us down? Finally, the news broke. I passed the exams, went on to pass the interviews and was admitted into ISL, UNILAG. I was overjoyed and relieved that I had kept my own side of the bargain. My younger siblings also made the cut in their times.

I am happy to announce that my official website http://www.aerikvon.com will be online very soon!

Sarah was a young beautiful lady. She was ambitious and very social. All her life she spent alone writing and reading novels. One afternoon, her dad came and told her that they were moving to another country. She was very excited about this news because it was her first time moving out of her birth land. Her parents and siblings were excited too because they were moving to their ancestral land. What an adventure it would be! Finally, she's going to meet up with her relative from her father's side. The long-awaited day arrived and they all went to the airport excited. Sarah took a deep breath as the plane departed, she said goodbye to her country. A new life awaited Sarah and her family. They didn't know what was in store for them.

Have you ever thought that you have dreams that probably will not come true? It's a small voice in your head, since you were a child. It was always talking to you, reminding you that so many opportunities and pursuits are out there for you. Then you grow up and the fantasy for a moment is replaced by a reality you didn't even dreamed of. What's the purpose of dreams if they can't come true? Are they realistic dreams or just illusions of things that we think we would like to have? I haven't figured out yet. I just know that dreams are part of our self. Our true inner self and even if some of them don't come true, maybe some better versions of them are going to manifest. Just keep dreaming, and that's not a cliché.

Fear and I are no strangers. Growing up with abusive parents and marrying an abusive man at the age of nineteen; you become accustomed to being afraid. Nightmares have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember; but the fear that grips me now is like none I have known before. I am a Christian, so I should not be afraid of dying. I should be happy that if I die, I will go to heaven, right? No. I am afraid. I am afraid because although my soul is ready, my mind and body are not. I am afraid of never seeing my children and grandchildren again. I am afraid of dying on this God forsaken island when there this so much I want to do. I am afraid to go back into the classroom because what if I get the coronavirus and give it to my students? The guilt would eat me alive! Physically, I have trouble sleeping. I can't fall asleep until at midnight or later and when I do, I have nightmares. I have chest pains. Heart conditions run in my family. I can't tell anyone. I don't want to burden them with my fears. I have little appetite. I have to force myself to eat something every day. I used to love food. I am an old-fashioned cook. I bake from scratch. Growing up all my kids' birthday cakes were homemade. Add to that, I am a stress baker. My daughter used to give me a hard time when she came home from school and caught me baking. She'd ask, “What's the matter, Mom?” Food was a big deal. I have often been told I needed to open my own restaurant or bakery. I almost did once. Now, the kitchen brings little solace. Emotionally it's like an alien has taken over my body. I have had some pretty traumatic things happen in my life; but I handled them with relative calm and that lack of a habit of panicking has gotten through them all. I take a deep breath. I tackle the most urgent thing first. I make a list of what I need to do or what I need and mark them off as I go. Over the years I have managed to show a brave front; but I can't anymore. I cry a lot. I am anxious going out in public. My heart races when I do. For five months, I have gotten out to go to the grocery store and that is all. I live on a tropical island and I can't even enjoy it. I am calm one minute and hysterical the next. I'm moody and volatile and it has caused serious strain on my relationship with my fiance. Who can blame him? It doesn't help that I am a redhead and have the trademark temperament. So, how afraid am I? Pretty damn afraid! I have begun to write my will. I have written my daughter a six-page “goodbye” letter. I have written my son a letter. I have always prayed, and I know I am saved; but now I pray every night the traditional children's prayer, just in case… Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray Dear Lord, my soul you take. God bless Quinton and Little Jack. God bless my daughter Christina and her husband Clifton. God bless my granddaughter's Zoey, Malia, and Alice. God bless my son, Monty. God bless Bree (my son's soon-to-be ex-wife), Alaynah, Kaden, and Alex. God bless all of my friends and family and loved ones. God, please watch over all of them and keep them safe from harm. Please God, put a hedge of protection around my family and don't let them die. In Jesus' name, Amen. There are times that fear chokes me and I am unable to get out of bed or do; but don't want to. I force myself to get up and face each day. Going through the motions of fixing my fiance's breakfast (he works nights). I force myself to walk our dog and do the laundry. I force myself to cook supper each night; and then I have to force myself to eat. I look out the window and long for the beauty of the island around me but am too terrified to go out and see it. I have always written a journal, but now I am writing four to six-page entries. I have gone through four ink pens in the last two weeks alone. I have days that all I can do is “depression sleep.” Even this rest is plagued with nightmares. I'm aging fast. Dark circles under my eyes and wrinkles appearing daily around my eyes, mouth, and hands. I am just 49 years old, but I look and feel sixty. With all of this, you would think that it was impossible to look forward at all. You would think that it is impossible to dream about tomorrow, next week, or next year. Even I am surprised that I can, that I have. My fiancé and I have a dream of buying a live-a-board sailboat and sailing around the world. Planning for this dream consumes our days and nights. We have made lists. We watch sailing videos. We talk and discuss what we need to do and what we need to buy. We've laid out all of the steps to follow and have it all worked out. Yet, all the while a shadow lingers behind the surface fueled by the fear that this dream will never come true. That one or both of us will die before it becomes a reality. A voice whispers in our minds, This will never happen. Why do you bother to dream at all? I answer back, “I don't know, but I do.”

Last year, I had studied for the Korean SAT until September, in my rented one-room in Seoul. Every day, I woke up at 5 AM, went to the private academy, and studied until 10 PM with only 20 minutes of rest time for the whole day. I even had meals, cramming myself in the small desk space, except for Sundays. I have been almost always exhausted, and my body was under stress usually. On one day in June 2019, the classes at cram school ended at 9:50 PM and I went to my room. It was in a building that consisted of single rooms, so it was very quiet. I took a shower and wrote up what I had studied for the day and watched some internet lectures for the next day. I finished it all at 1 AM and went to the bad. I suddenly woke up in the midst of sleeping, but something was different. I couldn't move my body or even twitch my eyelids. I felt that I was completely overpowered by something I couldn't sense. I realized it was the old hag syndrome because my mind was awake. I had heard some stories about it from my friends, but it was the first time I directly experienced it. Taking advice from one of my friends, I tried to move from my fingertips. But it was useless. I felt as if death had come right up to my eyes and I would die if I were to open it. I was also afraid that I might meet a ghost. But, there was no improvement over time. So, I did my best to open my eyes. Finally, when I opened my eyes, there was nothing peculiar and I could move my body. I checked the time. It was 6:38 AM. I vividly remember this time. I got up and turned on the light. But, it didn't work. I did it over and over again but it didn't work. I gradually realized that something was strange. So, I walked to the door and opened it. The corridor of the hostel seemed odd. The hall looked like a corridor of 90's hotel with wooden walls and green lamps. I felt as if I were in a Harry Potter movie. I don't know why, but I took that situation rather calmly. I headed out to the left corridor. Suddenly, I heard a sound, not knowing where it came from, calling me. I followed it as if I were possessed. However, just seconds after, I instinctively felt that I had to avoid it. I turned back and ran as fast as possible in the opposite direction of where I felt the sound was coming from. Finding the door of my room, I opened it. I locked the door and pushed the light button frantically. It didn't work, again, and I realized I was locked in my dreams. I was determined to fall to sleep no matter what. I laid on my bed and shut my eyes closed. I eventually fell asleep. After some time, I woke up. The sky was the color of the little dark blue of just before sunrise. Immediately, I pushed the light button, and it worked well. With a sigh of relief, I checked the time. It was 6:38 AM. But something more unbelievable happened. I finished taking a shower so quickly and went out to go to the academy, as usual. While walking on the way, I checked my cell phone. There were a lot of missed calls at 5 AM and 6 AM from my mother. I called back to my mother and asked why she called me. My mother said, “Are you okay? In my dream, Junhyeok (my younger brother) told me to check on you quickly crying, saying you were in a big danger. He also told me to tell you to not follow a stranger. I don't know who Junhyeok is talking about, but I guessed something must have happened”. I had goosebumps running through my torso. Originally, I did not believe in superstitions at all and even denied it. But, through this event, I realized that there are things that cannot be explained by science in the world and I need to be more humble. I was ashamed of myself for trying to justify the event as something caused by stress before calling my mother. I have to have more open eyes to see the world widely. There would be a lot of things that could not be explained in this world. The fact itself terrifies me, but I decided to accept things the way they are and not make quick judgments about things I don't know about.

Glory in my mind and A story in my life What I want to live is a glory in my mind But, what I have to live is a story in my life I wish I can fly in my life but that's the story of my mind not the glory of my life! It was the morning of 2000, a clock ticking at 7:00 A.M I was sleeping deeply eventually I felt the footsteps of someone coming towards my room, I placed my blanket over my head. While endeavoring myself for the savage that person arrived in, my mother arrived in my room pulled off my blanket, Joe getup its 7'o clock we are getting late son! hurry-up Joe, are you listening to me? I said get up, Although I was listening to her, really don't want to respond because I was busy arranging those chaos happening in my mind. Chaos? No, that's my world, designed by me, that's the world where every single thing happens according to me but not every time whenever I am sleeping that remote control world is free to do anything but whenever I am arouse nothing happen in that world regardless of my choice. Suddenly, I felt that some fluid is dripping on my face and I get up shouting someone is peeing on me? When I completely opened my eyes I saw that's my mom spilling water on me so that I can get up as it was getting late for my school. So finally I got up, Ahhh! Shitty dreams you always make me feel awkward in front of others. Anyhow, I got up, get myself to take bath, turned on the shower, put my depressed head below falling water of the shower, there were a lot of thoughts rushing in my busy mind, that project, that quiz, oh that home task I have not done any one of them, Joe you are such a lame boy u can't do anything in life, you're always late, you're always sick but why this all happens to me every time. No one understands, I always try to do my best I tried to prepare quiz but what happened that I am not ready for it? Whenever I open my books and try to memorize something I felt like there are already so many things to remember my thoughts took me to another level, I started thinking about what if have to do nothing but no one scolds me for doing nothing? What if I rule this world? If I rule this world I will demolish all the monsters over there, those monsters who bruise innocent lives for nothing, those monsters who are spreading anarchism everywhere, you all shitty monsters I will knock down all of you one day. Okay, after demolishing monsters what will I do? Umm, I will bring my parents a prestigious lifestyle, I will bring them all they ever want but unable to get because of their little ones, my parents are a great endowment of GOD for me, I will do everything for bringing happiness to their pretty faces. Have you ever experienced sky diving? Alack, I never had, I wish I am a great skydiver, I wish I could fly in the sky, I wish... what's pinching in my eyes? ah, it's painful, oh my bad I put soap in my eyes. Joe, you shitty Joe, come out of your dreamy mind you are taking a bath, aren't you? You dumbo, you are getting late for school hurry up and go outside. Now the clock is at 7:45 a.m my mom came to the room and started knocking the door of the washroom (now you have to face a big deal Joe, just be ready for punishment). She started yelling at me, Now, you can keep on taking your bath, you don't need to attend your school, just keep on sleeping and wasting your time, we can't wait for you anymore, we all are going to our workplaces and you can keep on enjoying the company of your bathroom! I will punish you hardly just wait for me to come back. BYE. Her words make me feel pity for myself (now I have to go to school on my own, as there was no one to take me). I run as I have never before, Joe hurry up!! You have to reach your class before 8:a.m you have to attempt your quiz either good or bad but you have to attempt it at any cost, otherwise your dreams will never come true. Hurry up, hurry up, run fast. Finally, I reached school at 7:56 a.m, 4 minutes before, I attempted the quiz and got 7 out of 10, not much good and not much bad. From that day I promised myself that I will work hard for my dreams. I will never stop my mind from taking me to my fantasy world because that world means a lot, that world is the other side of our story. We all have different kinds of stories running in our minds, good or bad. Bad stories are for gaining lessons in life and good stories are for amusing ourselves with good experiences. If you never had a dream, you can't have something miraculous in your life. Dreams are the beautiful reality of us, now it's up to us that how we assemble our dreams. Now, it's a morning of 2020, after 20 years me being Joe, I am an owner of my own multinational company running worldwide with unexceptional achievements every day. Although I can't rule the world (LOL) I can get everything I dreamed of and that's all because of that hustle in my mind which makes me feel pity for myself but sometimes it makes me the most confident person of this planet. Thanks to my dreams!!!

I look myself in the mirror, I can discern the decay of my face. There is no smile anymore. The stasis of my lips offers satisfactorily lust in my thoughts that torment my mind with Medieval methods. I touch my idol in the mirror and I hurt. I try to close his eyes, but I cannot. They stay open and still and they look morbidly. Chainsaws echo from the overlooked cemetery, tear into pieces mercilessly the marble crosses. What have I done to myself so he looks at me like this? Why my sharpened teeth do not appear on the glass surface with sole purpose to bite her? Sorrow hallowing my forehead with sorrow. Indestructible thorns jab more deeper in the flesh of my skull. Bloody tears sparkling in my hands' palms. If I scream I will die. If I die I will have to kill. If I kill I am obliged to leave. If I leave, I will return. God, why, the sorrows of people transmute into ebony coffins that are buried within my heart? If only I could soothe my consciousness for seven days… I feel something to choke me. My throat is asphyxiating while my glass idol laughs horrendously. I can't stand the howling. No, yell at me no more. Reigns powerful silence, and then spasms commence recalling me in my starting position, before abyssal darkness arrogates my senses. Maybe fate leads me in a deathly destiny, which in case it happens, will become the salvation which is the highest virtue for a tormented soul like mine. No, I don't murmur. The existing circumstances of life have tired me insurmountably, because as I try to open a way out to the future, it ricochets me to the past. Death is the physical continuation of life, and I will be delighted if it happens to the days of my youth, for the simplest reason, that I cannot avoid him. To speak the truth, I don't want to avoid him. I want desperately to remain alive and to feel whatever joy I can, but they don't let me. In which attempt I give or trying to be present, they find ways to chain me and isolate me. The only thing that will never succeed in accomplishing is to handcuff my mind. A free spirit clearly suffering, but in no way it can be imprisoned. A free spirit prefers death so not to lose innocence, insight, respect and prestige. I have thought many times while I stroll in the city, how life would continue if I committed suicide… For sure there will be consequences and repercussions to people who they love me , however they would continue to exist without me, and with the flow of time the rift of pain would heal in desired spots. The verb “die” does not fit here, so, reasonably I use the verb “suicide”. Suicide is not an act of cowardice as some falsely believe. Because nobody knows how much pain a single human has within his soul. Nobody knows the spiritual boundaries and the stamina in a daily routine that open wounds that cannot be healed. How many people we see daily that smile whilst inside them are literally devastated… How many people we see daily that seek a kind word, a velvet touch, an understanding breath, and the only thing that get is disdain… How many people daily we place of the beam of desperation without remorse…Here is a key word which provokes pathogenic causes with fatal results. Suicide as a meaning and as an act certainly is the ultimate hybris against God, though requires determination and courage to turn yourself against yourself and violently remove the coveted life in that way. How many of you have done this macabre thought at least once… In this theater of paradox we daily live, the incarnation of life to life seems like an unreachable dream. Loneliness, disappointment, sorrow, wrong choices, guilt, remorse, unemployment, compulsion, hatred, unfairy tax policies, lies, eradication, violation of human rights, greed, selfishness, stab democracy that all people worship. The rule of law which could be, turns into a cradle of powerful coldness where everything collapse upon the enormous steel walls of human separation. Undead people wander everywhere aimlessly. They stamp upon dead bodies, seeking comprehensible sunrays of justice and transparent water to wash away their sins. How would it seem to the violators of this planet, who have elevated the obedient lobotomy to a profitable enterprise, a universal peace, which it would dismiss forever the wars for interest and people would live happily? A universal peace will destroy forever the human funnel grinders of annihilation. Only by thinking of it, my heart shivers from hope and expectation. A universal peace would give meaning in words and prestige in actions of future generations in a planet which agonizes… The only thing that is needed is an incision of kindness into the hearts of men… An incision that will bring back long-forgotten feelings, good deeds, smiles, hope… Hope for a palatable future life. We need love to live, not pain. Tears drop from my eyes as my words breath on the paper. What I wish for, what I want is, my words breathe inside your psychic dreams…

I wish ... no I pray for someone to come along to talk to about priorities, hopes, dreams, prayer's ... but most of all - the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth... * life coach, goals, sobriety, finance's, therapy, but most of all - my kid's {secret}

“When I grow up, I want to be a doctor! A firefighter! A teacher! An astronaut! A ballerina!” All the kids yelled out with excitement, when the teacher asked what everyone wanted to be when they grew up! Now, those very same kids are all grown up, sitting in a staff meeting, wearing stuffy business suits, drinking coffee and thinking “this definitely could've been sent in an email”. What happened to those excited little kids from a couple of sentences ago? There's a four-letter word that I think explains what happened perfectly; LIFE! That's right folks I said it… LIFE can be something else! Now life is different for everyone, we may share similar experiences, but our responses and the affects these experiences have on an individual are usually different. This isn't going to be some sad story about how life threw a bunch of lemons at someone and knocked them out! Nope, this story is about collecting those lemons & making delicious lemonade! Of course, I'm not really going to talk about making lemonade! Take a minute and think... when the teacher asked you in elementary school, what you wanted to be when you grew up, what did you yell out? I said I wanted to be a doctor, because I wanted to help people! There I was, five-years-old and I already had life all figured out, or so I thought. If I could give five-year-old me some advice, it would be: grab a helmet, knee & elbow pads cause this ride is gonna get rough! So, here we are folks, it's senior year! Adrenaline was pumping, nerves were I don't know nervy I guess (lol). I was excited and ready to walk across that stage, down the steps, through the parking lot and into adulthood! PUMP THE BREAKS MISSY! That's me yelling at myself! Why were we so eager to “grow up” to become “adults”? How come the adults didn't warn us about… oh wait, okay…that's what all that “Don't rush it, before you know it, you'll be an adult” chatter was all about! Mm, I see now. I don't know about you but I would've preferred a breakdown, like I tell kids all the time specifically why they shouldn't rush being an adult! Like how they should take advantage of naps because they're not included at work. How about these pieces of paper you get in the mail that list out stuff you've purchased or used and at the very bottom, are some numbers that are behind a dollar sign…. These papers are called “Bills”! I can't believe I almost forgot to mention the most terrifying part of adulting… there's a place you go to for about eight hours out of your day (maybe more it depends) and you do tasks (some you might like and others you may not) … this place we call “Work”! So, enjoy being five while you can, because it doesn't last forever! I just needed to get that off my chest! Now back to my education timeline. Here we are, and its college graduation time woo hoo!! Finally, I can be done with all this school stuff, get a career, make lots of money and be happy! But that's not quite how it went for me! Remember in the beginning when I said life is different for everyone? Well, it's true! Some of my school friends graduated, got their degrees, their dream job and they are living life. While others I graduated with, have a couple of degrees in different fields, started off in what they thought was their dream job and realized none of that was what they really wanted. Then there were some who said forget college, they mastered a skill/craft, found their passion and either work at a job they love, or they have their own business. You see life is truly what you make it! It's like a game of cards, we're all dealt different hands BUT at some point, we all have/had similar cards, it's what we choose to do with them that results in the outcome of our lives. And I believe the only time it's too late for change, is when we're sleeping eternally! Some of you are probably saying, “ok what's your point?” And that is an excellent question! When I first started writing this, I wasn't sure which way I was going with this story. I just knew that I wanted to be able to encourage someone to get up and say “you know what, life threw a hell of a lot of lemons at me and now it's time for me to make some lemonade!” I know I said I wasn't going to talk about lemons and lemonade but I couldn't help it!! Here's my “real” conclusion, where I bring everything, I talked about altogether! Most of us dream when we're little and sometimes those dreams fade away as we get older, but it's never too late to fulfill those dreams! We've all been given life but live it differently. Some of us know what we want right out of high school, while others of us find our way a little bit later in life. Some people take life's lemons and complain about how sour they are, while other's make lemonade. Now it's time for you to decide… what will YOU do with the lemons in your LIFE?! ~Tiffany Renee~

I was told to write about good life experience. I couldn't recall a single, lonely memory: I've found that the past in my eyes seems an odd stew of wincing bitter, frozen heat, and dying light. I was told to write about relationships. How bland would that taste, revolving my story around another? Writers thrive in narcissism. We only succeed when we write of ourselves, even if the names or circumstances differ. I was told to write about my interests. I wish I had interests to write of, but my mind and heart have become slaves to my education. I am one of many robots the education system in America is creating. Writing has become my only solace in a world too bright to bear another star and too dark too allow any light. I was told to write about travelling. Yes, I could do this. I've been so many places and seen so many things. What does that matter, truly, in the end? If I was too stressed to live, I was certainly in my own world too much to allow those travels to morph me in the ways they should have. I was told to write my heart. But what is that? Is my heart the melting pot of all I've been through, or the emotions I've felt, or is it my beliefs? I suppose the 'correct' answer would be that my heart is the amalgamation of all of these ideas. That I am not one thing, I am many, and cannot be confined to the bars of one single category. However, when, other than in movies, does the 'right' side prevail? When is it that 'good' is louder than 'evil'? How can I preach the pureness of my heart when my eyes only see that resonating evil? I was told to write, and never stop writing, because that was my dream. These people standing around me, who claim to support me -- love me -- encourage my insanity. They smile while I run on my treadmill with the goal of reaching the crown of the mountain, so I can look down at all the other treadmills around and thank the stars that I'm not on one. I was told to write what I love. But I was also told to write what I know. I do not know what I love. No one truly knows what or who they love until those things are gone and you're left alone, reminiscing on the past and spiting yourself for not still living there. I was told to write, but for a while, I failed to. I live with a horrid sense of dread each day, because the longer I go, the closer I know I am to the acknowledgement of my paralysis. For those years, I was terrified of failure, but even more terrified of success. It petrified me to think that I had been lying to myself for so long; it petrified me that maybe I was alright. Maybe I even had talent. I was told to write, but never told why. I think I might be discovering my why. I will not write for anyone else. I will not write for success, or for fame, or for money. I will write for my own sanity, and to attempt fulfilling a dream. I've heard one in a million authors get to fulfill their dreams, so maybe I'll play the game, instead of sitting aside, fearing it. I was told to write, and I will, but the only voice I am obeying is my own. I have been desperately telling myself to write for quite some time.