Well, Life…

What is Life? Is it as the concordance described it, or a tangible to be numbered, counted or predicted as willed? Is life, in fact, multiple or unchangeably a matter of one chance for one life? Levity as often fetched in the absence of reasons needed not to be a required culprit, rashly blamed for the loss of a valuable life as interpreted or understood by man. Is a mundane life worth it, or the risks that cleave to the adventures an exciting life seek makes it a much better life? Some lived lives so excitingly fast-paced, intriguing, almost mysterious, yet dangerous; not because they planned them as such so they could someday claim witness to mind-blowing tales of their past. Oh, how such journeys had betided, entirely devoid of mortal comprehension and control. How life transpired and why each of its steps seemingly leads to new stories to tell.

In my case, someone once called me, “a cat with nine lives.” Instead, I have lingered on what to make of this for many years. “I’ve been here before;” my heart tells me. “Maybe that explains why I know where I want to be and where I don’t; things that I dread, like my past before I was born, and things that I don’t.” Even so, I ventured into the picture torn between my dreams and visions. “I think they are mementos of my path to redemption, the condition for which I was offered another life.”

“So I am a cat? The almost tragic life of a cat who lost a few of its nine lives? So what happens if the cat used up all its lives? Will the ninth life be the last chance at life or life is utterly indestructible? There’s someone, somewhere that I owe my existence.” I thought. “It might be the man from above.”

It reminds me of my childhood, and how sad I thought it was. Like a movie I desperately wanted to fast forward every depressing day just maybe the next day would bring the answers that I longed for. The voice, “use what I have given you!” continued to remind me in my silent hours. However, my thoughts, replying, asking; “For how long do we have to live in penury? For how long do we have to keep hoping for a better day?” Life was moving too slow for me, too slow to catch every moment only because I was blindly lost in the riddle of my dreams. I would realize in several years that followed, which were better years and when I understood life much better, how much I loved pictures. The stories they tell when you take a glance at them. How memories could be revisited in still moments, good or bad?

However plod my childhood felt only because I desperately wanted to change my family situation for the better, I realized how much more I needed to imbibe the virtue- patience. I wasn’t getting any younger, so every single moment and every decision that I made with it seriously counted if I were to forge through the tests my life won’t deny me.

All the same, I know for sure that there is an obvious reason why I’m still here. While many dreams had come true in later years from respective conceptions, every accomplishment had come at a cost that I desperately sought to avoid. Many of my visions had come to fruition, most when I least expected to realize them. Understandably, Life is such a puzzle; an attempt to unravel its mystery deprives of the thrill it manifests. Hence, I imagined life as a gift worthy of patience; a possession that must be earned as I never seem to be amazed each time I looked back into times past.

After a two-year hiatus, my blogs will go back to the beginning of my stories; a journey into the events that truly occurred in my life. The more I tried to discern how they transpired and why some of them had ensued, the more I grew weary. Although my endeavor seemed similar to trying to fill a basket with running water, a foolish task, I finally figured a way to accept and live this life – my life, by neither squandering it nor allowing my Deja vu-pervaded-life to devour me.

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