Counting the Cost

I'm tired...

Physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. It's a lethal combination. Really.

I feel like giving up. To just mess it up, to let go, to be ill-disciplined; to be all the vices that I strive so hard to flee from and disregard from my life. I feel like not studying, not preparing. The urge to deliberately rebel and submit a blank sheet of paper and shove it down their throats to pay them back is just pulsating through the very essence of my being.

But this is a system where they don't care. There is no individual, only the collective. We don't remember who failed or passed. Just numbers, figures, and statistics. We don't remember the highest PSLE, O or A level score from our school, just the grades and percentages.

Our very being is just so insignificant... so very insignificant.

It shocks me, and I don't know how I should respond. Someone came back yesterday. And it seems like so long ago when we last met. But everyone responds as if it was a given. What if nothing caused the person to walk back and turn around? What if he never saw the light of day again? Would we know, or care? I'm not free from this; I admit I do not try at times. And it's just so shocking. I contemplate the legacy (I think) I've built, and what would happen if I were to leave it all behind one day. No one would remember me, that I'm sure. Maybe for a couple of weeks, but nothing more.

I cried my heart out yesterday. I prayed with everything I had. I wanted to see him come back; to not throw everything away. We were close before he left, but I guess it's really sad that your space determines your relationships. When he left church, who actually bothered to keep in touch with him? I know I did, but at times I just didn't notice him anymore. And it saddens me. I prayed with all I had, because I felt so much. I felt his hurts and his guilt, and His Hurt. I prayed that His Love would come fill his life all over again. And when he was touched, I cried more because I knew You would never let him go, and You'd always take him back.

But really, who remembers us? Are we but heads on shoulders, two hands and two feet? Are we but numbers in the populace? We are five hundred strong. No one would see those leaving by the backdoor. We don't care about relationships. The space and condition comes first, everything else is about convenience.

The exodus draws nearer. And I'm going to give it all up soon, but not now.

Maybe when you read back, you'll realise I had once been there (if ever in your life) in that space we once shared. But my set moves on, and there's no longer the union and intersection. The space shares no overlap, and we move...

Maybe... just maybe...