Here, back again in this this old crossroad.  In a weird way,  it felt quite familiar like a deja vu of some sort. It could be  that I've been here before, somehow in the past. I could not remember.

Here in the same spot where I am standing, I felt lost and empty. This is where I stopped and tried looking back, but my vision  only brought me memories, some regrets but some more hope. So I squinted my eyes and tried looking ahead. But my vision was blurred and harboured nothing but faint pictures of the future.

And right  there and then, I noticed you. Sitting by the bench, whistling a common tune.  Panic stricken, I asked you for direction, for some advice or tips. I was frustrated and almost hopeless.  But you just smiled and told me this:

" A raisin is a grape that worried too much"

And now, I am back here, the same thoughts, doubts and fears. I could have learned and all but a year seemed not enough to contemplate on such things. I still don't know what my heart desires and I have been circling this street for some time now, and here I go again-- worried and frustrated.

I thought I've got good grasp of things-- almost but not quite.

The weather seemed calm but gloomy, winds blowing gently with some birds fluttering here and there, trying to seek cover as if anticipating some event. The world seem silent, with nothing to worry or to rejoice about. At some distant place,  dogs are barking, emanating alarm. But she was oblivious, yet, to the world.

The monotonous humming of the aircon and the tapping of the keys are her constant companion, lost in her work but a part of her mind tried to scurry through boundless imagination of what will be. Beating the deadline had been her forte, rather an unavoidable habit. Wracking her brain of what else to write on her report and trying hard not to lose focus, her mind's eye gave up on her.

Suddenly, surge of emotions flooded her mind, leaving her powerless. All she could do was to succumb to the invisible force and let her hurtling emotion free itself, otherwise it will be a futile battle. She could feel her pulsating heart, drumming at the back of her head making her aware of all her senses. She felt scared stiff of this sensation, a passion breaking free.

"What's next?",  her logic scorning her.  She doesn't know

She noticed that it started to drizzle.

Soon, rain will come pouring as her feelings start to betray her. 

Who told her that it was easy? Who gave her too much positive disposition that sometimes she felt that reality is being  harsh?  Following your heart usually has grave trade offs-- disappointments or too much expectation.

Soon it will all be over and forgotten.

People tend to forget anyway, what's the use of all the memories?  And then she remembered a favorite line from Murakami:  “Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.” She hated how  the truth in it stings. How she wanted to runaway from her past and start all a new leaf. How she wished that she could have a different life. But then, who knows if she'll be happy or miserable?  Who will tell her?

For now, she needed to hold on to reality, if not, she might wake up one day not knowing who she was and who will she be.  She needed to believe that tomorrow will be  better than today. Soon she hopes to smile at a new day.

Soon is yet to unfold.

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