Found this Sunday

They say that whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
What they don't tell you is if it comes back, it doesn't hurt any less.

You don't grow an absolute immunity to it, there's no Power Word: Shield in this world and you certainly can't Bubble and Hearth out of it.

Sometimes it seems like you get those bite-sized portions of antigens to help cope. But sometimes it seems like your body doesn't have the capacity to procure antibodies for this one. The infection grows and you're plagued by the symptoms.

Pain is like a virus. You may catch one and maybe you will grow an immunity to it. But a new strain comes along. It's the old one but with a twist. Always the old one with a twist.

Of course there are the faces and the names of those you're lucky enough to have around you. They do their best but there are those times they don't understand and maybe you don't want them too.

They tell you its going to be all right, everything will turn out fine, you'll be okay.

But when? That's always the prompting question for this expository paper they can't write. When does that silver lining break the clouds, when do you reach the border to where you'd rather be?

The truth is, if it doesn't kill you, there was no other power helping you out of it. There was nothing to ease the pain and take it all away and return the equilibrium to your life.

The truth is, at the end of the day, the only person looking out for you is you.

No one told you which cloud to look at and no one paid for your passage across the border. It was you all along, your eyes and your price to pay.

You're the one who faced the bullshit with bullshit repellent and sprayed that motherfucker down.

And it screamed "Oh God it burns".

At Weeks' End

And so as the double-doors of polished pine, adorned with lion's mouth doorknockers creaks to yet another close at week's end, i reflect upon the souvenirs of the past 168 hours, namely the strained/injured groin i incurred at sports training on Tuesday along with the session on Thursday and the match Saturday morning which more than likely contributed to its worsening condition.

I also take the time to remember how the last 10 080 seconds have been the most testing, socially, physically and academically, that i have had to pull through in some time.

Lesson2
But, as i lay in my Dacron sleeping bag inside my weather-proof tent which is suspended against the cliff face, defying a 2000m drop, I'm grateful for the fact that i have yet to encounter any number of large, obsidian-furred, ivory-horned, with glowing blue-eyed yetis that pick you up with one hand while you lay into their face with the Walther P38 you picked up from the ice-encrusted bones of a long deceased member of the German Black Parade.

The metaphor is simple: its been a long, tough week for me but the week is over and I've almost conquered the mountain that is my current test. My tent is my weekend, and my sleeping bag is the solace i can feel within the embrace of this week's close and the opening of another. I just remember: Nothing can be as bad as a crazy yeti unleashing ape-shittery on you and Tenzin.

And now i Collect my thoughts. Compose the mind and constitute the means.

Thankyou to the Game of the Year for 2009, Uncharted 2: Among Thieves for today's lesson. If you haven't played it, seriously, be there or be circle.
And thanks to anyone who decided to take the time to read my bits and bytes of venting.
I'm Huystory, you stay Classy, blogspot.com users.

Blog Virginity...gone?

Today, in desperate bid to take a few steps further into the endless void that is the mystery of my existence, i decided to take a leaf out of the master's book (Thanks Tony =D http://dontfakethepunk.blogspot.com/) and give digital rise to what will now serve as the doorway to clearer thoughts and the window to broader horizons. My Blog.

As my first dish on the menu of food for thought:

Lesson1
Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow?
No, says the man in Washington, it belongs to the Poor.
No, says the man in Moscow, it belongs to Everyone.
No, says the man in The Vatican, it belongs to God.

And so i ask you, what is it you work for? What does your blood, sweat and tears amount to at the end of the tribulations of which you paid passage with said bodily fluids?
I think everyone has their own answer. And i hope you had/have a say in the one yours.

Anyway! Enough of the deep stuff, Thankyou to Bioshock for Lesson1 (Great game, havn't finished it yet though) and Thankyou the reader for your company and consumption of my cerebral nourishments.

See you when i see you.
/huy