- Thursday, May 10, 2007


My Desire
Jeremy Camp

    You wanna be real
    You wanna be empty inside
    You wanna be someone
    Laying down your pride
    You wanna be someone someday
    Lay it all down before the King

    You wanna be whole
    You wanna have purpose inside
    You wanna have virtue
    And purify your mind
    You wanna be set free today
    Lay it all down before the King

    This is my desire
    This is my return
    This is my desire to be used by you

    You wanna be real
    You wanna be emptied inside
    And I know my heart is to feel you near
    And I know my life
    Is to do Your will
    Is to do Your will

    All my life
    I have seen
    Where You have
    Taken me
    Beyond all I have hoped
    And there's more left unseen
    There's not much I can do to repay
    All You've done
    So I give my hands to use

Standing for hours as time ticked by. One second at a time, slowly, slowly, it went. Slowly, it passed. Like a drip of water, gently pushing itself away from the mouth of the tap and then plunging into the pool of liquid, joining a society of new friends; each second crouching low dawdlingly nearing the near hour, until the very last minute, very last second, and then all darkness, all silence, all void. Never. To. Be. Heard. Again.


Her eyes scrutinized every inch she saw, every little pixels her eyes perceived. She was in bewilderment, questioning the authenticity of the image seen. And then suddenly a burst of emotion welled within her chest, choking her effortlessly. It was as if a large barrel filled with smelling water poured onto her, the liquid flowing continuously. Adding to the chill, a mild gradual wind blew against her, and a sudden roar of frost enveloped her arms. Goosebumps. The rational her felt agitated; but the emotional her desired strong comforting arms around her, hugging her tightly, whispering to her ears "it's okay, it's okay".

Yet that wasn't what she really wanted. Ironicism.

The surge of jealousy blanketed her entire body like a black hole eating her away. Wasting away she was, but she liked that feeling. She was so used to it that she couldn't tell the difference of solitude and melancholy. And perhaps, at this point of time, she coined a new word solely for herself - melancholereuphoria: extreme happiness for sadness. A joy to be sad.

Lifting her hand to touch the girl staring back at her with utter beauty, she slapped the lady, but she felt hurt inside. A tear ran down her face. Bitterness. Jealousy. They rhymed to her ears.

Her mind burst with questions she knew weren't appropriate, and needed no answer. What was she so confused about? Why was she questioning so much? Why must life be treating her this way? Why? Why?

A surge of agitation welled within her mouth, she wanted to throw up, but she rather swallowed the feeling. Bitter is pleasure, just the way linguists coined it: bitter-sweet. As her eyes scrutinized every inch of the lady looking back at her, she couldn't help but to reach out, touch, and feel the lady's skin. Smooth, wonderful, perfect. All of these she had none; she felt like an utter monster, worthless and useless, seemingly unwanted.

The lady smiled.

What was that for? Why smile? Do you really love to see a monster? How could you mock at my insecurity? How can you do this to me? That smile - a joke? You think its funny? So tell me, what's so funny about looking like a monster? I couldn't choose how my complexion would be when I was born. Did you typically think that I wanted to be like this?!

She couldn't help but to shed a tiny crystal tear. The lady continued smiling.

Long ago, she had wondered about numerous what-ifs. What if I were beautiful? What if I were perfect? What if I were enchanting like an angel? What if I were accepted? What if I could smile and yet look pretty? What if others didn't push me to a side? What if life was meant to be merrier and happier for me? What if I were not on this earth... would it be a more beautiful place?

She staggered, almost falling. Another tear fell from her eyes. That tear, her heart felt heavy, was one filled with anguish and fear. She could see before her eyes the way her mother treated her - throwing chairs at her, shouting vulgar names at her, pinching her arms and belly, slapping her face for no reasons, and telling her that she was a mistake. She looked at her feet, her heart becoming heavier.

Just because I am not pretty. Just because my right feet is one inch shorter than the other. Just because I couldn't look well whether I'm crying or angry or smiling. Just because I wasn't the cleverest in class. Just because I am not brilliant like others. Just because, just because.

She wiped away the tears in her eyes and sighed heavily. If only death was the answer.

The lady kept smiling.

What was it that made her smile? What was it that gave the lady the strength to smile? Was life so enthralling? Was strength so easily gotten? What was so strengthening?

She couldn't answer, she couldn't tell. To her, life was once beautiful, a rainbow decorated with multiple mixed colors so brilliant she couldn't describe them correctly. And perhaps, this feeling was only applicable to her when she was about three or four years old. But then, the world started tumbling with horror she couldn't verbalize, and all she could do was to endure and endure, and perhaps to cry alone at the late dark quiet night.

What hurts the most - to her - was that somebody who bore her for nine months could hurl insults at her, could call her names and degrade her as if she were of nothing, as if she were some unwanted trash. By now, she understood well the reason her mother called her names, and even the lady agreed with a smile. That was how life was, is, and will be for her - disgrace.

Fine. If life wanted to do this to her, she had two options: to kill herself or kill her foes. She decided. Quick and easy. Without a moment of analyzing she knew the answer: Kill her foes. The first, yes, would be the lady. She smirked with dejection and gladness.

Pools of seas joined hands before her, forming oceans upon oceans. Ghosts formed above the water with many faces and they started waving at her, but after the next second, as the wind blew, they shattered and fell back into the sea. No, it was the end. They appeared again and waved again. Ah, her heart tingled and skipped a beat. Ease was the way she felt; never had she feel that way. She breathed in, her lungs working with gladness.

Her hands moved and grabbed the lady's frame. Today is your death. Today is your end. Today is your doom. Say your prayers! She laughed evilly. Looking into the lady's eyes she unleashed a breath of anger and dissatisfaction to force into her victim the message of death - life ends today.

Up and high, the lady went, tight in her hands, drowned in her wrath. Fast and dashingly quick, the lady went, off from her hands, down to the ground, brushing through the air molecules, frictioning against all of them. Perhaps this instant, sparks of flames appeared. Perhaps at this moment, the air molecules shuddered with fear. When life has gone its path, it ends today. It ends now. It ends this very moment, this very minute, this very second.

Time slowed down. Every molecule appearing from vanishment, every emotion seemed to magnify and began to materialize. Look closely and see the movement of every bouncing molecule as if they were saying 'hi' to each other, and then 'bye'.

Suddenly, time stopped.

Shattered. Broken. Gone. The lady was not in a piece anymore; in pieces. More confusion, more bewilderment, more questions. Yet, without answers.

She bent down and looked at the broken mirror and started to wept. Remorse filled her entire mind, because at all sudden she began to realize that she wasn't a monster she thought she was, but a rare beauty, a gem found nowhere but within her, a crystal that could never be materialized on earth but somehow appeared - her. She was the definition of true beauty, but she never understood.

It is many times when life pulls us forcefully away from what we originally were meant to be, we start experiencing true life simply because life, by definition, was never a bed of roses but a path of rocky sands and sharp-edged stones. Step on each of them with extreme care, feel the way life paths itself, and then tell for sure that you had had a good life, because the feet of your soles are then hardened with experience, and your body well-shaped after the long walk.

Mirrors exist to show us we were meant for something, we were of great value, we were the reason this world exists. Mirrors smile at every of our wrong because the reflection we see reminds us that we have another day to go, another moment to feel, another tear to shed, thereafter, have the courage to pick ourselves up and say, "I have another challenging day to conquer."

Just like the lady, just like how she hated herself because she never believed the image she saw, sometimes we are the same. But it is time to break it - the false belief of our true identity, our true strength. No, it is not how we think, nor is it who we believe we are; but just facing the reality that each of us have our moment of sadness, our moment of disbelief, our moment of fear. And after the remorse and pain, we learn to identify with others, we learn to tell others the way to pick up their mirrors and smash it so that the many shattered pieces reveal to us each side of our faces, each angle we at times fail to see while just staring at a whole us.

The mirror of life - reality speaks. Whether we choose to believe or see it is another matter; yet it is still our choice.

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