Can we ever escape it; who we’re meant to be? The further I’ve come along in life, the more I’ve noticed that life is a two way thing – that we can create our own destiny, or that for some their destiny is already chosen; that there are sad people and happy people, introverts and extroverts, there is hate and there is love… the list could go on. If life were a two way street then I’m on the side that’s already been chosen for me. I wonder if I were to sit still, would I still find myself in the depths of my responsibility or would sitting still indeed be my escape. No, it’ll always be there, it’ll always be waiting for me. More than a year has passed since the passing of my mother and astonishingly, 3 years have already passed since the passing of my dad. The memories of them though will never leave me be. Despite anyone who knows saying that I did a great job for my parents, in my mind I failed them, not for what they endured, but for not fully being there with them in what they endured – “honour your parents is what we’re told”. I won’t allow myself to see the good I did, only the bad – humility overweighs being proud – but not even ‘humility’ would describe what I feel. There’s a certain memory of my mother that I think back to. She was in the later stages of her illness at the time and in this memory I was in the shower, standing with my right arm held up against the wall in front of me – a wall to keep up-right the worries of the World, I’m surprised the wall didn’t break – but I did; I fell quickly to my knees, crippled as the shower poured over me and no, the wall did not break, but my heart had. I cried hard with flashbacks of what I exist to see and give hope to. I had cried hard enough for my mom to hear me from three rooms away from the shower where she was sitting, contemplating most likely of what her life had come to, trying her best to make sense of ‘why’ this had happened to her – a lesson for me would be my answer – my mom’s whole life was to prepare me for who I am; The lives of our parents often sets out for us the life that we will lead. My mother had later said to me with her expression innocent, loving and beautiful – though above all helpless – that she had heard me cry. She wanted to know why, but wasn’t persistent and I never did tell her why I had cried. I don’t know who I can compare myself to or how to find the words so I can continue to write about what I’ve been feeling as honestly, I wouldn’t know how many people feel the way I do, or rather, feel responsible in the way that I do. Of late I’ve been called more to live up to my responsibility. My heart narrows in what it wants and follows that chosen side of the street again. I find it hard to trust in what I want and further more, I find it hard to trust others who want to be close to me; “I am not like you” I would say to them, unassuming in what they want with me, not remembering why they do in the first place. The call to live up to my responsibility I believe only to be a wake up call. Life is perhaps a little more just, that it will allow me to still have what I want and so I continue to find that trust again and my quickly narrowed heart can breathe for itself once more. Though I wonder why I still feel like I’m recovering. Is there a chance I won’t? If only I could end this on a better note.