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About the Author
And time trickles down, I'm breathing for two
BOOO. You're darn lucky enough to have stumbled upon my blog. I'm sour 15 but who cares? You don't need to know my name, because that'll make my blog a cyber game. And remember to tag!
The Alley
Posted on: Thursday, September 11, 2008 Posted at: The Alley
hi peeps. i know it's been a long time since my blog has been updated. so now, i've written a story entitled "The Alley" to 'entertain' you guys! haha!
The Alley
Creeping in the dark night, walking against the cold wind, I paced along the alley. Step by step, I made my way towards the other side. Upon reaching the middle of the alley, the only way I could go to was right or left. There was no need for hesitation. It was just a matter of reaching there.
The Alley, home to anything, and everything. I lived there, and I don’t live there. It is my home, and used to be my home. I would say that I’m a nomad. An urban nomad to be specific. Life is forever challenging. Yet, life is forever carefree. Walking alone in the darkness, without any light shining upon my path except the moon, my emotions stay calm as always. To me, there’s no difference in living either inside or outside. I live inside and outside. I work inside and outside. Yet, there is no possible difference. Life is yet the same for me. I have always pondered on this question for all these years, “Will there ever be something different for me?” I doubt so.
Working inside copious amounts of work, it is nonetheless stressful. Working outside to survive, to shelter, to eat, it is ever the same.
Finally reaching my destination, I stood in front of the wall, waiting for some miracle to occur. What miracle did I expect all this while? New shelter, new home, new work, new food, new techniques on survival? To me, everything new is everything old. Why bother getting new stuff that benefit you but they eventually become old when something benefits you more than them?
My home, my cardboard. My home, my walls. Life is so ironic. Which is which? New is Old or Old is New? These questions are neither answered nor questioned. Does a question need to be questioned to be a question? Does an answer need to be an answer to be an answer?
Beyond the limits of my walls and cardboard, so many questions are asked yet little answered. Will life remain unchanged or improve? Is life fated to be like this or is planned by ourselves? Our souls trapped in our body, waiting to be enlightened. Yet ironically, they enlighten others themselves. Is it our experiences that make us so special or just our features and skills?
Sheltering under my cardboard, sheltering under a roof. That makes no difference to me as they are still shelters after all. Will anything ever be different for me? No.
