It is a lonely night where the street lights ahead glow dimmer and dimmer. A man dragging a bag of a hundred tonnes staggers forward. He never seems to have a slight thought of stopping. Days after days, he gets more distanced from familiar faces. He finally collapses when his torn feet can no longer carry the wrecked body.
We never know how long our lifespans are. Are we supposed work hard so that we do not age to start begging for money; or enjoy life as we move on because we never know we may collapse the next day?
If you are born in a poor family, you probably have no choice after all, even though work all day makes a man dull and kills his creativity.
What can make things worse is when people try putting extra burdens on you when you can hardly catch a gasp of breathe. You can risk putting relationship at stake if you do not want to suffocate yourself.
Some nights I do dream of my legs powerless. I understand well what it symbolises in the reality. It is never fun to struggle strengthlessly.
Do I have to hurt myself more before I can learn to enjoy myself?
I was glad that my brothers had kept my mum entertained with her cell phone earlier on so that I could concentrate on my work.
I was some kept breathless worse than ever with the amount of work piling up.
I remained in my usual contradiating self after all these years, having problems with my priority. I failed to reject friends over and over again.
I could never forget when I was struck with the old Nokia phone that could not read half of my contacts for more than three months, Mike told me he actually planned to buy me an iPhone 4. Even though I did not want him to spend on non-essential items on me, his words had strike me badly.
I could not even fare for myself to help others. The number of times I refused to take a break at the verge of breaking down laughed at me. There were plans for creative as well as critical jobs but I was ransacked totally off my time.
Yes, it was true that I had spent so much time helping others instead of trying to get out of my own poverty, I did not deserve any gift from people who cared so much for my success in life.
I knew my situation well but it was my born character to help others, especially the kind ones. Everytime I stabbed myself to lend my hands to friends, I felt guilty to myself and people who cared for me.
Nobody could understand my woes and few could realize the supposed-to-be little amount of time they could squeeze out from me for their convenience's sake had stalled the progress of my cumulative result.
I often have to draw myself away from people to avoid more entanglements. Sometimes I mock to myself having to reject freelance jobs that can raise my personal portfolio.
