Personal history has an extremely funny way of repeating itself.
Two Saturday ago, I landed in a foreign land to news of a turn-of-event that shook status quo, and a week later I woke up to news that threatened to redefine status quo entirely. Over and over, yesterday, this sentence haunted me: nothing really happens to you until it happens to you. Me, not you. Me. Yesterday I carried a heavy heart in the company of the person who perpetrated it and went to bed with an anger that shook me to the core – unvoiced but not insignificant.
This evening the earthquake happened, destroying with it not only my sense of ease but also the glass house’s frame. Cracks; I spot them everywhere now, on each wall. Over and over, I think to myself: You’re wrong – the truth never sets anyone free.
Because now I’m equipped with Truth – knowledge – and there is responsibility to bear with that. I’d thought that we’d weathered the worst fifteen years ago. I’d thought that was the worst of all worst case scenarios to occur under this roof. I’d thought that what time cannot heal – and it barely healed anything – will at least pass through, archived. Lessons learned.
Isn’t it funny, when we promise we would never turn into that one thing we absolutely loathe …then we do?
Isn’t it funny, when we tell ourselves we’d never walk that path, knowing its outcome …then we do?
Isn’t it funny, when we remind ourselves just how much was destroyed in the inferno …only to reignite the fire?
Isn’t it funny, how foolishly human we are? How ultimately weak we are, yet there we go thinking and believing we are invincible, learned, grown – the adjectives, they never cease – failing to realize that arrogance is still disgustingly human?
Isn’t it funny, how history repeats itself in the exact way it never should have?
Then, it was circumstance. This time, it is a choice.
“I think, not all of us will–“
“Look how vulnerable we are… and we think love alone will raise us above all tides.”
They say that God tests those He loves with exactly the things they love the most. I knew I shouldn’t have asked for the worst, thinking it would eventually arrive because everything felt so good, too good; I knew it. I shouldn’t have.
“It’s not that we can’t weather through this, but this change… this time, I think it will be permanent and lasting. It’s a matter of time. This time it’s… different. And this makes me so sad. I don’t know how to begin describing this sadness.”
This time, it is a choice. That changes everything. What lies have we told ourselves, all these years we call ourselves learned?
History sure has a fucking funny way of repeating itself and no matter how I look at it, there is no fucking way out.