A few lines before sleeping

I open my door at ten past ten in the evening. Home, finally. Another day gone by.
Yes, it’s work, and I might have gone home the past days a little late than normal but it’s not a thing of bother. I don’t even feel bone tired, it’s just work, we do what we can with the time we have-- correct the careless mistakes, revise and simulate again (and again). It is far from being difficult. It’s just work, not something to dwell upon.

I surprised even myself, noticing that I am now a little less harried by everyday stuffs, no longer as vulnerable to irritation. My temperament flatlining into something steady. I know why. It’s because of this: I’ve been so close to breaking at one point. That darkness where nothing matters but the sadness, the futility of doing anything with my life. I have been too close too losing everything (or so I thought) that I look at my days now with an openness. A cliche comes to mind: that which did not kill me made me stronger. Now I tell myself each day, just live it. To make the most of what comes along. How I am better at small good things, little goals that are achievable in one to three months rather than long drawn plans.

For a long time, I lived in anticipation of an expected and planned-for future. Now this empty slate is mine to fill with my own little dreams. It’s the one thing we all learn when we fall, that no one else will do it but you, the turnaround, that resolve to go back to the race. To a life that’s worth all the happiness in the world.

Till tomorrow...