Life and Death.

Yesterday was a day of Life and Death.

I've been in a pretty sombre mood since yesterday.  But I must say that the day was important; probably important in more ways than I now realise.  I'm completely positive that It will at least always be in my memory. August 17, 2013 was a day of Life and Death... Not that I'm going to remember the date....

It was a Day of Death.. It was my cousin's funeral.   

I can say pretty confidently, now, that his death was a mystery. I had heard some mention of smoking and the sort but I found out there was none. 25 year olds don't suddenly develop severe heart conditions. Now even though I had spent a fair amount of time with him as a child I barely have any memories of him so hearing his past schoolmates, university batch mates and even co-workers talk about him made me realise that in all honesty we were a lot alike. At least many things said about him are things I would want to have said about me. He was a joker, a man who loved to make people laugh, a confidant, a friend, an achiever (probably over achiever), a hard worker, a man who cared abut his friends, family, loved ones; he was father (even if only for 8 months) and he loved his son and his son's mother dearly, he touched the lives of all he was around, he was dedicated, he was willing to sacrifice his time and his resources for the good of others... and it went on. Of course people only highlight the good at funerals, but it was obvious from these and other accounts (from family members closer to him than I) that they were at least telling the truth about the good. If any of these things could be said at my funeral, or just said about me, then I'd feel accomplished as a human being.

I can also say that never before in my 17-going-on-18 years of life has my entire family (mother's side) been represented in one place (only one of my uncles was absent, and he sent his wife in his place). In a way it was a good thing... but in many more ways it was bad. Very Bad. Like all families mine has it's share of familial bullshit, but it's nor a fair share... It's WAY too much to be fair. There are families in need of bullshit and we could very well be suppliers. I won't talk about it in detail here, that's not my personal business and thus I'm not at liberty to disclose it; not to mention the amount of people involved (my grandparents had 10 children... 9 of which have their own families). However I can tell you this much. The death of one of our younger members did almost nothing to harbour any sense of unity among us. If anything it made some gaps wider. Even in death the bullshit still smelled as strong as ever, if not stronger.

The pastor at the funeral preached a "timely word". "Timely" is an oft used word concerning preaching but this message was DEFINATELY given at a suitable time. He preached from Psalms 103.

Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him. For he knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust.

Psalms 103:13-14

We Are Dust. Humans are Frail. Life is Uncertain. Live Healthily. Live Humbly. Don't Live a Wasted Life. Don't Take Others for Granted. Yeah. Quite Timely.





The burial was pretty miserable. My aunt aid something in the bus. "The only t'ing we Crawfords do quiet  is bawl"... and she's right. Well, at least about the quiet crying. There was a lot of crying. His girlfriend took it really hard, and for good reason. She is left now with a son that's the splitting image of his father but will never really know him. I don't know what plans they had but I know that Ramon loved both of them dearly, and it was reciprocated. She bawled, honest, pure-hearted bawling. Some of us as family cried, but in our way of doing so, we cried silently. I had decided that I had no right to cry, and I didn't, but I was definitely as silent as a crying Crawford as I stood there. Stood there while  they lowered his casket into the grave. Stood there as they placed the concrete slabs over it. Stood there as the cemented the slabs together. Stood there as the covered the grave in dirt. I sang not one word, and I could see the general consensus by us as the family (though my father, not being a Crawford was somewhat exempt).

Saturday (not yesterday anymore) was a day of Death.

it left many questions. "Why?" is generally the first one and for good reason. We often hear the cliché statement "Everything happens for a reason". When it comes to death it's a difficult pill to swallow. Always. However, I do believe that everything happens for a reason. And while it is not in my capacity to know the reasons for everything I can say I witnessed one of the reasons for the necessity of my cousin's funeral.

We went to the funeral in a bus (not all of us but a good amount of us) and whilst coming back to Mandeville we meet upon the scene of an accident. A MASSIVE accident too. Both cars were totalled, and all the passengers were elderly people. It was bad. As we passed however re realised there was no urgent effort to help these people out and soon 3 of my aunts, father, 3 of my cousins, a family friend and myself had become the leaders of this rescue operation.

From the layout of the scene my father pieced together a theory as to what happened. he believed that a car going down the hill caught a spin (rain had just fallen) the car coming up the hill the rammed into the side, catching a spin itself, and then stopping with the rear end to the rear end of the first car.
I won't detail the entire ordeal, however I'll talk about two things.

1. The injuries involved.  The lady at the point of impact had her foot pinned under the door. Her foot was broken in several places and her hip was broken. There was a man who had a cut on his foot straight through to bone. There was a woman who was cut by the seatbelt right under the throat. Another was thrown from the back of the second car tot he front, being saved only by the airbags. Another woman apparently suffered internal damage from the seatbelt and the airbags.

All of these people and like 3 more were gotten to the hospital, mainly due to our effort as a family.

2. The people around us. Only a few of the were of any help,  even though the crowd only got larger. We had to be traffic controllers, lucky thing one of my nurses is a poem, one of my aunts carried the woman who had the pinned by the door, to the hospital. But the people were so... absent. They watched, we needed help carrying anyone... none, too many I recount for me. People were cursing us for blocking the road. My cousin had to intervene and cut two "claat" to get them compliant. It was Awful.

My family is capable of many things. And people are selfish fucks.

But through us. Saturday was a Day of Life. Lives we saved.
even though two of those ladies died Sunday morning.

It was a Long, Full Day. But it ended just as all of us one day will. We are literally like a day. Here today, gone tomorrow.

-Me

The Mountaintop and The Cliff :Another Long Post

Before I start I just want to say, You Have Been Warned.

So as a Christian I have what are called "Mountain Top Experiences" which are like peaks of spiritual enlightenment or closeness with God etc. They are really good and camp has always been one of them. The whole environment of camp is so spiritual sometimes you really don't want to leave, you'd want to live in the place forever... where being a Christian is easy, and there are pretty girls, and no homesickness (in my case homesickness means more like being sick of home than a longing to return there.) But unfortunately one can't. with every mountain top there is a valley that needs to be returned to.

While I'm on the topic though I'll talk about camp...

My denomination (ugh.. hate the term) owns a campsite and holds 5 camps there every year. This year, for the fourth consecutive year, I've gone to Camp 4, which caters to the 15-17 year group (I'm 17-going-on-18). But basically I was among the oldest persons on camp, and one of the more "experienced" Christians as well. As a "senior camper" I was treated more like a counsellor than a camper too, though more on the responsibility side, not much privilege, but this was pretty convenient since the counsellor for my dorm didn't come back to camp.

Now the 1st question I asked my dorm mates on the Saturday night was "Why did you come to camp?" and when it reached my turn to answer I answered, "Well, firstly it's a spiritual experience and I seek after spiritual experiences, Secondly I love to be surrounded by people (I probably thought "mostly female people" as I said this), and finally I hate my yard. " or something to that respect. So I'll address those three aspects because they are the most important to me.

Spiritual Experience: the camps are set up quite spiritually. You're generally secluded from the outside world and it's distractions, daily chapel, dorm devotions, other sessions etc. obviously show that the aim of the camp is in fact the spiritual growth of the campers. While these helped though, my two greatest spiritual experiences were not contained in any of these.

The first one happened on  the Tuesday. After 3 days of miserably unbearable heat rain fell (that's enough of a blessing to be a spiritual experience though). But some special things happened. The first reaction of us male campers was to "run up an dung like eedyat" in the rain. We played with a Frisbee, we just shouted and really enjoyed ourselves. Now normally the counsellors wouldn't have allowed this to happen because of health concerns, but next thing you know they were encouraging us and soon enough, and I kid you not, about 80% of the make dorm was outside bathing. Now why was this a spiritual experience? Because, my dear reader, from that moment on there was a unity and oneness amongst us male campers that was nothing short of miraculous. There was no Dorm 1, Dorm 2,Dorm 3, Dorm 4 or Dorm 5, just the male dorm.

"Truly, O God of Israel, our Savior, you work in mysterious ways."

Isaiah 45:15 (New Living Translation)

 

The second one however wasn't as heart-warming. It happened on the Thursday after the banquet (we, unfortunately were assigned dates, I was lucky though, I drew "Rita"... she is probably one of the most awesome people I know. I couldn't quarrel... anyways). I had been a bit disappointed that I didn't get some recognition for my awesomeness at camp (found out later that they decided to give someone else a chance to be Camp King... long story... bleh) so I was walking in the moonlight a bit and ended up going into the dorms last.  I entered the dorms in confusion. For some reason my dorm mate, a really chill guy, someone I'd run jokes with and one of the few males I talked to on camp, was completely furious being held back by about 5 other guys. Apparently, and this sounds completely ludicrous, someone had burst his balloon. Upon hearing this I knew something else was up. This wasn't the type of guy to be so easily ticked off, and really and truly this was the result of some spiritual warfare. The counsellors eventually quieted down the dorm. and a few people spoke, including me. Now Why was this a spiritual experience? Because, my dear reader, it showed me that anything God institutes is being attacked by the Adversary. Something wanted the unity we had established only two days before to be destroyed.

"Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour."

1 Peter 5:8 (King James Version)

 

We also had a really good speaker during the Chapel sessions (I never slept once), so those were my biggest spiritual occurrences for the week.

 

Social Interaction: camp gathers people from all around Jamaica, different backgrounds, different personalities, different ways of pronouncing "d'even". Of course there is the male:female ratio to be established, and since it was about 26:42 (not quite 1:2) I was pretty much comfortable. I spent most of my time with two friends I made from my first year at Camp 4, one of which was my reason for coming to Camp 4 and not graduating to Camp 5 and the other I've talked about previously, and another friend I'd met last year, whose voice is near as close to my heart as crackers. They are nothing but good times and I almost made the mistake of ignoring the other awesome femmes on camp. Luckily some awesomeness cannot be hidden, and soon enough I was all over the place. I met some wonderful people, and got probably hundreds of chances to make girls laugh/smile (which I discovered is the reason I love their company so much). 

 

I didn't neglect the "bredren dem" though. I couldn't, really. I made fewer male friends but I somehow managed to gain the respect of most of the dorm (between my Christian integrity *koff* and the fact that I was one of the few who was constantly surrounded by girls...) So I got along pretty well with all of them. We ran jokes, talked about the girls on camp (hehe, because there were some GIRLS on camp though) and general foolishness. And especially after the rain thing there was a brotherhood among us that was just natural.

 

Being Away From Home: A solid week away from home is ALWAYS a blessing, and probably a spiritual experience in and of itself.  

 

 

However, as much as I enjoyed by eight days of camp, they eventually ended, and I had to come home. I was tired as hell, but I delayed my return as much as possible, and maybe a bit more than that.

 

Now normally the glow of positive energy from camp lasts some time, like coming down from a mountain. Especially since I was absolutely elated about the results from my externals, AND I was coming home to an empty house. But there was no gradual decline. Simply speaking, there was no moderate decline of a slope, I fell off a cliff.

 

There was no greater zeal for reading my bible or praying or changing things in my life that there usually was. Neither was there the general feeling of Joy. The first thing that struck me at home was Loneliness. Not because my family was away, but just moving from being surrounded by 67 other people to 0... killed my vybe. So I went to bed. My Anti-Lust Protocol was simply overridden, as I found out when I woke up. I swear that the 45+ mins of "fondly remembering" some of my dear female campers that I woke up to was pretty intense. And this wasn't helped by the fact that I wasn't going to church today either. By nightfall my cursing had started back up again. And by time my parents had retired, I partook of strong drink.

 

I guess I had this coming. This Christianity thing is no cakewalk. And the further one traverses into it, the greater steps he/she has to take. All I can say now is "Please, Lord Forgive Me" and then face another day knowing He's still by my side. Regardless. 

 

-Me

Memento Mori.

I've always liked Memento Mori as a Latin phrase, which is probably understandable as it's the only one I know, except my school motto: "Sic Luceat Lux". But I first met "Memento Mori" in a book. A Series of Unfortunate Events: The Austere Academy, where this very phrase was the school motto of Prufrock Preparatory School. And as Violet asks Klaus "What does it mean", he replies, remembering it from a book on Latin phrases he'd read, "Remember, You Will Die."

One of my favourite movies is "Watchmen" which is based on a graphic novel of the same name. It starts with the murder of a character we will find out is essential to the understanding of the world in which the movie is set. As he fights a losing battle, to "Unforgettable" as background music, his last words are "It's all a Joke", before his assailant throws him through the window of his condo... The event is scribed into Rorschach's Journal, after a short rant on the filth of human nature: "Tonight, a Comedian died in New York."

Memento Mori. "Remember, You Will Die."

Well today my cousin died.

Now I won't lie about it. That isn't the reason my mood has taken a turn for the worse... because when I came home and my mother casually says to me "Oh, You remember Ramon was in the hospital.. well.. He's gone," as she went up the stairs; I wasn't even stirred. He wasn't a particularly close cousin, I have no real memories with him, so yeah. I don't know if that makes me a cold bastard, but it's the truth. However, I guess it really did hit me later. My mood nosedived when I actually got the chance to sit down, and relax...

I was having all kinds of light hearted conversation too. Then it Hit Me.

 

Yup... 10:38 pm. It hit me. Well, THEY hit me.. Two things in particular:

 

1. I was guilty. I'm not supposed to be so alright after this. I should feel loss or something. Isn't that the human response to these situations. Loss, Remorse... and I felt even worse was that I was trying to justify my lack of reaction. "He died because of his own decisions", "You weren't all that close".. thoughts like those entered my mind pretty quickly, and as usual they didn't help, at all.

 

2. Death is all too close to everybody. It's just there, lurking... ready to break down our doors, and have us fight in vain, hoping that at least we'll be Unforgettable to at least one person. Praying that "It's all a Joke...". Hoping that we'll have a smile on our face, before we hit the pavement.

 

And with the Memento Mori there comes a certain fear. Before I go on, I don't think I'm afraid of death as much as the method... but as I was talking to some friends of mine it dawned on me; the reason I was afraid. I don't know how I would react if something happened to my friends.

I've lost a friend before... except we weren't all that close.. as in.. we'd just started talking. Then her life was stolen from her. And on that day... I WAS PISSED (to say the least) but I wasn't giving full vent to my anger... But Anger is a strange thing. I inadvertently punched a metal tank at school. It echoed. I almost broke 3 knuckles... But most surprising were comments of people after I had calmed down... apparently, I, the cool, funny guy, was scary. I guess it could be summed up simply.

As I said... if anything was to happen to any of my friends right now.... I have no idea what would happen. Though I have two theories. I'd either explode and end up killing something, or I'd shut down indefinitely. And from my perspective they are equally frightening outcomes. But the fact remains.

 

I'm Scared.

So... Scared.

 

I'm scared because as much as I claim to care about them some of them care about me more.

I'm scared because even the ones who aren't "good people" are some of the best I've ever met.

I'm scared because as much as I think they need me, I DEFINATELY need them more.

I'm scared because I haven't even confronted my problem with my parents yet.

I'm scared because of all he laughs, the memories, the shit, the good times, the bad times, the idling.

I'm scared because it's.. "you guys" and you all are irreplaceable (As if I would even try.)

 

Even though It's obvious we'll all die eventually...

But for My sake.. please.. just.. don't.

 

 

RIP Ramon.

-Me 

A Letter I Signed.

As usual, I didn't think my next post would be about this... Actually, I had thought this would've ended up as a Poem (*koff* poetry blog here *koff*). I honestly thought that my next blog post would've been about the amazing summer days I've had.. or the reminiscing I've done recently.. or something like that. But no. Apparently I'm not the boss here at impulseprose; I'm merely the medium or whatever. But Alas, Things happen.

In a way this is all about a friend I had kind of forgotten. I know this seems to contradict my beliefs on friendship but let me explain a bit. I didn't really forget her... She migrated and I just lost touch. I'm not sure how, but I did. It's not a proper excuse, but it's all I have. She didn't mind though (just saying). Now normally I would post screenshots of conversations I refer to in this blog. But I never got the chance to get her permission and there are some stuff I wouldn't be at liberty to freely disclose... so I apologise for neglecting my usual modus operandi.

She was apart of a group of 1st formers I befriended when I was in 4th form. Now I don't particularly enjoy "Little People" (as I would come to call them as I entered upper school), but there are a few who stand out... and I LOVE people who stand out. It was because of Drama Club really, but yeah. We shared a lot of moments, all of us, my friends and hers. Bake Sales, Productions, Fall Outs, Foolishness of all kinds. We went through two Drama Club Presidents: One Stellar, the other just No. We all, including her, were the club's future (as I'm now president and all). But she migrated at the end of (my) 5th form year.

Of the "Little People" I considered her my favourite.

I won't go into it too much but I found out that she had some problems. At the time I wasn't as helpful as I was now, and I was more comedic value, but I tried to help because I can't stand seeing my friends in shitty moods. It Rubs Me The Wrong Way. Like I'm no fighter, but I'd get beat up for a friend as much as I'd probably joke that "If ah fight bruk out is You and God alone, enuh". But that's just a front. I've learnt more and more often that I care, many times, more about others than myself (usually to my own detriment).

Anyways, it was her birthday recently and I don't normally S/O people on their birthdays (I don't know why >__>) but I had felt the urge to do so, but still didn't.. So today I decided to message her, give her a "Happy Belated Birthday" and run a few jokes... then I remembered:

 

I admit that that is a weird statement (but meh, I love being weird) . But it was true. The passive knowledge that she was happy around me (and our friends) made me realise something, though I never knew what it was at the time. But it took me two years to realise this, I mean, the realisation just dawned on me tonight/this morning:

 

 

 

(I reordered the tweets by the way.. )

 

 

"Not Everybody can make a Crying Girl Smile"

 



I recounted this story because it has reminded me of a very important truth. Throughout our lives we interact with many people, and many times one can feel that he/she really doesn't leave a dent, a footprint, a mark or whatever in anyone's lives. But believe me, You, Her, Me; we are all important to someone. We have all left a mark on someone's life (hopefully, however that it is a positive one)... and also, We all have someone, or people, who have left a mark on ours.

 

Your interactions are like letters you've written. Think, however, not about the amount you've sent, but about the amount you've signed.

 

Just Reminiscing,

Me. 

The Friendzone, Love, and the FB messenger app: A Converation....

So this Thursday I had a conversation with a reaaally good (female) friend of mine and eventually we started talking about a lot of things..  Due to my other blogger friend's previous post showing the answers when had gotten from the question "What is Love?" from different people I felt like sharing this convo... so here it is. I'm basically going to start at a very awkward place... just for the medshellment.

DISCLAIMER: These here are the views of me here at impulseprose.blogspot.com and may have material which offends anyone who is against the concept of "Love" or religious (specifically Christian) views... Unfortunately I cannot apologise for these neither do I feel the need to. Oh, also there are A LOT of typos, and this is a good part of a 6hr convo. IT.IS.LONG. so read at your own risk and I am not responsible for any time wasted. I just felt like sharing it. (and this whole DISCLAIMER thing is from a joke that's somewhere in the middle of this convo.... )

And if friends can't switch from a serious 2+ hr convo to one about android apps then I don't know what friendship is....

As Usual
- me

Father

Firstly this should've been written yesterday, but I'm a lazy bastard who was too caught up playing Pokémon. So yeah. But yes. Yesterday was Father's Day; a day which is marked to commemorate the (positive) impact of Fathers on their families. Thus, until I run out of things to say, I shall speak about my father.

My relationship with my parents sucks. No question or comment on that; and it's due to a lot of things which have culminated, not completely anyone's fault (if "fault" is even applicable here). So to be honest I don't have the best father-son relationship. In fact, my father and I as SOOO different it's almost comical. My father is a morning person. That is one of the most noted differences... considering that especially now, as it is Summer, I, the living creature of the night, go to bed when he's waking up. This of course causes some disagreement when he wakes me up 2 hours later to allocate some job/responsibility/chore... The harmony of nocturnal and diurnal creatures is difficult, especially when the diurnal one has the authority and right to give the nocturnal one jobs whilst the accursed ball of fire still scorches the skin and retinas of the beholders. There are other differences of course, including my fathers outdoorsmanship, his people skills, his initiative many of which I will talk about in time.

In April, on my father's birthday I told him that he has always been my role model. That statement is still applicable, and will never be annulled or voided. You see if you've ever read my poem "Mother" (yes, that is a link to it) you will probably come to the conclusion that if I were to have a favourite parent my father would probably have a better chance at that prestigious position. My father is a hardworking, diligent, man who cares about his family and has magnificent people skills (haha sounds like something that would go on a resume or recommendation or something..). That, however, is the kind of person who I want to become, though in many areas I seem to be severely lacking. Though somewhere inside me I've always considered my father a better man than I (on account of being married to my mother for 24 years... wow... 24 years), yet he's the one who's proud of me.

I legitimately don't know how my father does all that he does. Though he's labelled as "Incapable of saying 'No' " (a trait I do have some sign of having), it's through that trait I've seen how selfless a man should and can be. His long hours, work, more work, doing favours, catching up on work due to favours he did, jobs around the house... In some respect my childhood has been quite work free because of everything that he does (so I can't really quarrel about the few jobs I do get... though I will still wait till 1am to do the dishes). His dedication to providing for his family (I've seen him give me his last few dollars to allow me to go somewhere, enjoy something, or simply go to school). Selfless. Responsible.

There aren't many bad things about him. He's a bit patronizing at times, maybe a bit formal, I have memories of him referring to me by my entire first name for most of my childhood (just know I have a pretty long first name),but I think that's it. My father is the Understanding Parent though. He's the one with at least some amount of levelheadedness. (Sentimentality is a trait I share with my mother...) He's almost always calm, dealing with whatever has to be dealt with in a very adult manner... Actually, I think my father has tried the most to create some kind of relationship with me (I'm the one who kinda shrugs it off) and for many reasons I hope my children are more open than I am (needa find a WOIFE wit' dose characteristics) so that even if I'm half the father mine is, I can have a better relationship than exists between mine and I.

Even in my childhood, many of the best memories are with him. GEO TEACHERS HAVE THE BEST FIELD TRIPS, and back then he'd take me off school to go with him. I guess through all the travelling with him I was guaranteed a life free of any motion sicknesses (WOO!!) plus a love of the world around me on a whole (maybe that's why I'm so science oriented).in his youth he played an instrument, he drew, he acted... So maybe my artistic side came from him too... Haha ain't that a
bitch, I'm probably more like him than I realise (which is a pretty happy thought)...

But, and I think most importantly, my father is here. It's really a blessing to have both parents growing up (...) and it's one I think I've overlooked many times. However, when I see how many of my friends and other people I associate with don't have this privilege, especially with the precedence of single mothers these days. I am EXTREMELY blessed to have the man who is my my father as my father.

So Daddy, I raise my glass of your liquor, which I have so often stolen out of the cupboard, to you.
Thank You, and even though I'm not that versed at expressing it, I do love you.

Your Firstborn
-Me.


 
 

 

Passion

pas·sion /ˈpæʃən/ Show Spelled[pash-uhn] 

noun

1. any powerful or compelling emotion or feeling, as love or hate.

2. strong amorous feeling or desire; love; ardor.

3. strong sexual desire; lust.

4. an instance or experience of strong love or sexual desire.

5. a person toward whom one feels strong love or sexual desire.

This post should have been about freedom or something like that since my exams are DONE. (fireworks, explosions, fanfare, stripper jumps out of the cake, other celebratory stuff) But as you must have noticed by now I NEVER end up writing what I plan to (you'll get used to it, I have). Somewhat rambling introduction; check.

Now, and I don't mean to brag or anything this is all apart of the point I'm making, I'm a writer (poems, stories, working on a novel, plays, this blog), an artist (mainly graphic art, I draw a little), an actor, I can do a bit of public speaking and if I haven't forgotten anything I'm pretty smart too. Now all talent means when you're young is that you have potential. The people with potential are burdened by expectations: parents, other family, teachers, even friends expect you to make something of yourself. Of course they mean the best, but a burden is a burden. So when I was like 6 the answer to "What do you want to do when you get older?" The answer was "Teacher" and my mother all but beat that idea out of me. a few years later (about when I was 10) the answer was "Herpetologist". That died a natural death (still interested in reptiles though). For the first like 2 years of high school the answer was doctor (however that was before I had discovered any of the aforementioned talents other than being a smart kid.. so all this confusion started when I began this whole multitalented shit). In short, right now even though my spoken answer, and the answer on paper in the guidance councillor's office is that I want to be a Doctor, when the answer really is that I don't have a clue.

Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life.  ~Confucius

I love that quote. However, this brings us to the topic, and the problem I have. I have no passion (umm, definition number 1 up there... would love to talk about the others.. but all things come with time). But really it all comes down to doing what you're passionate about. I have friends who know exactly what they want to be, people who are able to pour themselves into everything they do... and I admire them. Like my friend who will probably be my Member of  Parliament in the future, or another friend who's poetry moves me more than she knows, another who has had too many ambitions (though she said she came up with her final answer).. All of them, and others, have discovered their passions and plan to follow them... Yet my talented ass is so ambitionless it's disgraceful.

I'll have to thank my friend who has more or less the same "lack of zeal" dilemma for reminding me of this at the time I would be least likely to think about it. But really and truly I think no matter how much we worry about this (and I worry about this a lot) It will work itself out. Passion isn't something that's forced. In fact, I think the more we try to force it, the more we worry, the harder it is to be realised.

Anyways I may have more to say on this topic but the sun is coming up and I hear birds outside.... haha gotta love being a night person.

-Me