Being different is harder than being the same. Until sometime in our 40s or 50s or 60s we realize we wasted all of our life trying to live it through someone elses likes and dislikes. And that is when we panic that our life will end and we will still be trying to live it for everyone else. Call it being a rebel. An activist. A fighter. A warrior. But in the end it is as simple as a human being trying to live their destiny by speaking their own words and doing their own things. Whatever they are. For whatever reason. Why cant it be that simple. Why cant we be who we are meant to be. And why do we only get to see a glimpse of who we are when loss strikes. As if we have no powers to open our own door and walk our own path without the sky landing on us. We are capable of the truth without having to go through unbearable pain. There I said it. Now I feel better. :) Christina R.
Posted on: Tue, 08 Jul 2014 03:10:03 +0000
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