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Friday, March 12, 2004 Unknowingly, I have become a fishmonger. The kettle had been whistling for a long time already, and the head honcho decided to let the steam out today. Steamed fish tastes nice, but steamed fishmonger doesn't. Especially when one find out, to his horror, that he's the fishmonger. Suddenly he is an ostritch, looking for sand to bury his head in. But he is also a man, and a soldier, and he takes it straight in his face, unflinching. The hurt and sadness is borne within. After all, he grudgingly admits, he had it coming. A man wakes up in the depths of a dank pit. His dreams of sunshine and breezes dissolve in the rain. The way out is long and hard. But he has seen what lies beyond the confines of the pit. The sunshine and breezes and rolling green hills can be his to enjoy again, if he has to will to get there. Gritting his teeth, he begins the climb. A very trying day. Morale has never been lower. Retribution comes in lump sums. I almost hate myself, hate my life. But the harder I hit the ground, the higher I must bounce. I'm no cheap ping-pong ball to stay quashed on the floor. I must be a rubber ball, to bounce no matter how hard I fall. I must correct my mistakes, and show myself that I can do it. Only now I'm very very tired. I could either scream it out at the beach or weep into my pillow. Or I could wither and die inside, become a hollow shell. But I can'[t afford any of these options. Maybe I'll learn from you, JQ. I'll walk home tomorrow.
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