Imprisoned by Faith

The rain pours down heavily outside. Mother is doing what she best at and my father is reading a newspaper. It is a routine scene which I always unaware of.

I pull out the chair, I sit on it, and try to slip in into the situation. The sound and the smell of the rain bring in sombre atmosphere. No one seems to bother at my entrance.

>>    Life is unpredictable, and everyone knows. I somehow believe that our lives are predetermined. We are just playing a very tiny part in this universe -- moving our shits back and forth, then later on we deemed it as, life. In other way of saying, we are powerless. Things happen as they are meant to.

Some call it, Destiny. I prefer to stick with God's.

2013 leaves me so fast and it brings along many lives with it. My friends, my relatives, my neighbours -- some of them were very close to me -- are now become someone to be missed. Things that had been accustomed to me are dissappearing.

Even my most beloved cat is gone for months.

This is the death year, and the toll is counting. I hate the sensation of being sad, of being hit in the face, of being losing the pace, of being unable to erase the memories. I hate to be soaked in sorrow.

Some call it, Fate. I prefer to stick with God's.

In this world of confusion and melodrama -- the rush of power chasing and wealth making -- people are tend to be emotional and temperant. Probably, after the GE13, when the ruling coalition announced that they had been wiped out by the Chinese Tsunami -- which later on had drew mixed reactions from the opposition parties -- people seem to get more and more confuse.

And when people are more confuse, they are getting angrier and bitter.

I have no philosophical insight for the GE13 as I did not go for voting. None of the parties provide me a good answer for my question and misery. They are full with severe resentment.

No solution, only rethorical.

Albeit the chaos, we live -- the housewives keep cooking, the politicians keep talking, the workers keep whining, the sailors keep cursing, the students keep yawning, the thieves keep making fortune out of people's suffering, the birds keep chirping, the sun keeps rising, the world keeps spinning, the balance in the bank accounts keep depreciating, and we keep beautifying the dreams.

And to me, my beloved cat is still missing.

Some call it, Curse. I prefer to stick with God's.

If we could pause our minds from thinking about all the madness and open our heart wisely, would we ask ourselves, what do we get beside of all the propogated hatred? Subsequently, the answer is, there is more hatred.

And what do we get if we love each other? Of course, the answer is, more and more love will prevails.

We have to stop being loggerhead. No one is wrong or right. This needless energy wasting argumentation is only spreads anonimosity. The damage is ours -- a price to be better us.

A chasm should be bridged, not combated. It should be cherished in maturity, not grieved in hostility.

Make peace with the past, submit ownself to defeat. Learn to letting go. Surrender to the righteous path. Forgive and seek forgiveness. Be rational. After all, we are not getting any younger. Life is getting shorter.

Some call it, Destiny. Some call it, Fate. Some call it, Curse. I prefer to stick with God's.

The truth is, there is a plan -- a great and very detail plan for everyone.

It is proggressing, and is happening, surely.    <<

"Some people," says my father, "they are just plain stupid."

All the rumbling thought inside my ancient mind suddenly diffuses. I am urged to get back to the reality.

"I wonder how the people are thinking nowaday," he laments. His breath consists a frustration.

"Huh-- Some people--," he adds with sarcastic hopeless tone.

I was in a deep conversation with myself just now -- the universe, the Fate, the Destiny, GE13, the cat, the death, the hatred, the plan, the life, the Curse, the medication, etc, etc -- this kind of things are prone to coagulate immediately whenever my mind adrifts. When it does, it separates me from my being, from my actuality, from my surrounding, just in a blink of an eye.

It is hard to focus when you are torn out. It is even harder if you keep denying.

We are anticipating for a breakfast. There are only three of us left in the house. I must admit, sometimes there are too many things I have to digest at the table beside the food.

Abah is giving way. His hearing is broken and he is very keen on dealing with it. And he is entitled to OKU benefits now. But somehow, he never complains. His stubborness stays.

Mum is also not doing very well. She is being repetitive without she ever realizes. She lives in fear. She keeps telling me the same stories over and over again, and I listen to them just like I never heard before.

The best thing to have living under one roof is, I feel physically and mentally close and attached to them. I feel essentially exist.

The one who was the least spending his time at home becomes the most now. He is me, and I am thankful by some means. I could see how the people who are significantly a world to me gradually losing their ability because of the nature -- the frigging aging process -- the gray hairs are dominating, the skins are wrinkling, the teeth are decaying, and the efficiency of noetic faculties are deteoriating consistently.

They are showing signs of mortality.

It breaks me into pieces, but then, again, things happen as they are meant to.

"You know, son," Abah says, "the Italians are the pariah of the Europe!"

This is what I like the most about my father. He does not lose his wittiness. He knows how to amuse silent. And I always try to be all eared to his enlightenment -- even it is really hard to chew.

While listening to my father's never-ending explanation, there are questions sliding in my mind: Am I well-prepared to the next game of life? What if there is no tomorrow? Can I cheat death?

Am I being a good son? Do I have enough time to repay all debted love? Will they stick with me if they know my stories? Am I living to the expectation?

Will God excuse me for all my sinful act and wrong-doing? How the punishment tastes like? How long should I repent? What will happen there?

Why do I have to leave the one that I kissed?

Does my cat ever miss me?

I am struggling to liberate all the subconscious projections inside my mind. They overstay at my welcome. They make me careless. They diminish me to different dimension. They sink me.

"It's not the pain we cannot stand, it's the hope," my father says after clearing his earlier vindication about the Italians, which I have failed to concentrate.

Or perhaps, after he peeks at my pensive mood.

I smile in hesitancy, as I just could not let the voice passing off through my throat. Brilliant words from him classically swap a relief -- discharge me out from asphyxiating in the ocean of thought.

How I wish I had that charm too.

"Don't listen to your father. He kills me with his idea since you were born!" my mum suddenly interrupts from the kitchen. Humor, too, always a useful way to suppress regression.

Again, I smile.

They had some good times, some awful times, but they had shared them all together. Their mutual antagonism -- once a joke, a performance for benefit of others -- had slowly become, through being ritualised in that way, a mundane reality.

Amidst of all, I keep on praying neverthelessly -- in every time, in every day, in every prostration, and in every secrecy -- so that my beloved cat is fine, she eats properly, puts up some weight, finds the answer in her quest, and comes back to home somehow -- as one of His greatest plan.

It is good to have a proper good bye before I go.

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