The thought suicide crossed my mind many times already, but I grapple and hang on as hard as I can. I muster all the reserve patience I have, tried my best to lighten up and get back on track. I feel the tension, the heartache and sadness. I feel the tears coming but I don’t let them fall. It was as if in a dream that I shifted to a separate world or dimension where things became peaceful and I got to talk to my grandmother. Maybe it is happier at the other end. I know I don’t have the right to have this thought; my life was given to me by Him who shed his blood. It is a blessing to live, to breathe, and to explore new things. Sometimes, what you say does not matter. It gets overlooked as if leaving no impact. People barge right in and take the idea from you; no patent laws here, just that sometimes you’d wish they would acknowledge your suggestions. At times I wonder if I should just keep everything to myself. Maybe I should ignore the tones, the sounds, and just zone out. I’m not good at writing banners to overwrite the reality that is happening. I say how I see things are but with careful thought. How come what I say don’t count much? When I speak up, why is that my voice seem so small even when it’s audible enough for everyone to hear? It is sad that every time you want to connect with people, to rebuild the relations around you, something comes up. You’d feel the ties becoming thinner, the ropes close to breaking or you’ll find yourself on the edge. I hope to rewrite the cases so that I can urge myself to move forward as I zip up the bruises and the scars. I cling harder to the gift of music, to the love for writing, and to be stronger when life gets hard. Many people experience misfortunes far worse than I have. I patch myself and ride on. In the shadows, I seek to find the light. In the light, I see mercy. For receiving mercy, I gain strength. After all the struggles, I feel lightness. His mercy does rain down on us. Up in the sky, I see the blessing to experience life.