Tuesday, 15 December 2009

Chicka, count to 10

"I'm my own worst enemy!" I yelled at J, through the computer screen. We were laughing at each other and catching up on Skype after a few weeks of not chatting or talking. I guess you can say we both had our own Seoul-isms going on.

"Aren't we all?!" she yelled back. "Seriously, think about it... no one's perfect, and even when we don't think we're making mistakes, somewhere through it, we end up screwing up anyway."

She was right. I knew that. I know that. But it still didn't ease the fact that until the feelings of anxiety and irritation passed, that concept would simply not process.

"We're human, S," she said. "You said it yourself, we're learning and growing with each passing experience... sometimes it's hard but it passes."

And it does. I've been through enough moments in my life where I've felt as though the walls were going to close in on me, and the ground was going to eat me alive... but I'm here now, looking back on those moments thinking, 'I went crazy... for nothing!'

Except in those moments, it didn't feel like nothing. In those moments... reveling and living through those moments... those were hard times.

But that's the beauty of life I guess. You get through them... eventually. Even through the stormiest days and darkest nights... we get through them. There's always an end. And then we move on to the next chapter... or for some people, the next volume.

So why is it that when we're going through the 10th, 15th or 80th storm of our lives, we always feel as though we're about to be consumed? So much so to the point where that feeling of '... this is it!' takes over, sending us straight to the brink of a mental warfare, with no one else but ourselves?

Truly, we're our own worst enemies. If only we could program ourselves to count to ten before every impulse.

If only.


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