Our eyes tell a lot about ourselves. The shade of our eyes betray the mood that we are in; the lines around our eyes portray our stormy journey in life. We can’t keep these in a closet and hope that they remain there incognito, to be examined only by ourselves. No, as much as we like to keep our secrets safe, it easy to read a person just by looking at the eyes.
Someone said somewhere that it is the pain that we have gone through that makes us human. The sorrows, heartaches, frustrations, disappointments, humiliations and failures are just the things in life that make us real, that separate us from the pretentious crowd. Someone has also said that what does not kill us will make us stronger.
Everyday we pray that we are spared from pain, emotionally, mentally, physically. But it seems too good to be true. We go through life trying to mask our pain. In this regard, sometimes we do stupid things. Retail therapy and eating are the most common sought after remedies. Who hasn’t blown up his budget just trying to get over a blinding heartache? Or do you know anyone who hasn’t tried bingeing after a particularly humiliating rejection? Does it work? More importantly, is there a real remedy for a broken heart ?
This heart, this heart of mine has been given away countless of times. I have also lost count the number that it has been broken . It is a wonder that it still beating. It is a greater wonder that it craves to be broken yet again.
Exploring the pain seems to be a rewarding motive for writers. Why, in a lot of writing classes, we are told that only a great writer could share with us the trials and tribulations of his life while making us root for more. Now, what manner of a person is this? Has he no respect for his own privacy? Would examining and bringing it out into the open be therapeutic? I don’t know. But I just can’t. I have no strength to go through mine. The intensity of it could probably incapacitate me.
Someone said somewhere that it is the pain that we have gone through that makes us human. The sorrows, heartaches, frustrations, disappointments, humiliations and failures are just the things in life that make us real, that separate us from the pretentious crowd. Someone has also said that what does not kill us will make us stronger.
Everyday we pray that we are spared from pain, emotionally, mentally, physically. But it seems too good to be true. We go through life trying to mask our pain. In this regard, sometimes we do stupid things. Retail therapy and eating are the most common sought after remedies. Who hasn’t blown up his budget just trying to get over a blinding heartache? Or do you know anyone who hasn’t tried bingeing after a particularly humiliating rejection? Does it work? More importantly, is there a real remedy for a broken heart ?
This heart, this heart of mine has been given away countless of times. I have also lost count the number that it has been broken . It is a wonder that it still beating. It is a greater wonder that it craves to be broken yet again.
Exploring the pain seems to be a rewarding motive for writers. Why, in a lot of writing classes, we are told that only a great writer could share with us the trials and tribulations of his life while making us root for more. Now, what manner of a person is this? Has he no respect for his own privacy? Would examining and bringing it out into the open be therapeutic? I don’t know. But I just can’t. I have no strength to go through mine. The intensity of it could probably incapacitate me.
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