My Own Fourth of July

(Late posting. Bringing it to you from the scribbles in my notebook. Written as is.  Not edited.)

Time check: 7:23 AM.  I am writing this out of my stream of consciousness.  I just woke up from almost a three-hour sleep.  I grabbed a pen out of my bag and my notebook among my piles of book on the tabletop inside my bedroom. I don’t want to let any word slip out of my mind. I feel like I’m writing this as my first in my after-life.  I feel like I was given a chance to start again.  By the way, Good morning World!

I can still feel the numbness of my left hand.  The right hand is doing the best to write a nearly-legible note in this notebook. I felt like I’ve just gained a new, sound heartbeat.
Just a few hours ago, I had a dream that I was on a stage of confusion whether I am still alive or not - those usual scenes on tv and movies, where you are trying to touch and move things but cannot; where you are trying to shuffle a song from the mobile phone and play it so loud but they don’t seem to notice; those scenes when someone is looking for you, there you go saying, “I am here,” but they can’t see and hear you.  Then you sit alone frustrated and continue thinking “What happened?”

I am not a fan of whining.  Never.   But I can say, life’s really a mess the past few days – trials on the relationship, financial worries, quarter-end reports, healing gums, and flu. PERSONAL CRISIS…again!  I am not into whining, but I somehow did last weekend.  I kept on whining about my cough, colds, and fever, but the big deal was on my mind and heart.  I even thought of wanting to be confined to a hospital to see who really cares and to finally find a way to retreat from everything that worries me.  (That’s childish, yeah!  But sometimes you get to think about the unthinkable.)

The incident just gave me a new reason to get out of bed, forget everything for a while and find another reason to move forward amidst all those clutter.

This post may sound like the usual inspirational or self-help articles.  If I am the reader,  I would hesitate taking a moment to read.  I still wrote it anyway.  Having it experienced first hand triggered me to write.  At least, after some time that I get to experience the same moments of depression,  I’ll go back to this one single post I wrote in July 4, 2012 and get myself reminded:  “I still want to be alive.”

July 4.  Americans call it as their Independence Day.  Starting today,  I’ll make it my own independence day -- freedom from all the baggages I’ve been carrying.