Lessons of My Life (Chapter 1)

Whenever I look back at my life, I think of all the times I wanted to kill myself (because I felt so miserable living it) but never did because I wanted a storybook ending to how I died. I’m glad God put that idiotic idiosyncrasy in me. It helped me stay alive this long. The perfect combination of procrastination and poetic complex allowed me to live this long, to breathe this air I’m breathing, to love the people I’m loving now, to learn the lessons I never did when I was young.

It would be an understatement to say that I was grossly immature when I was young. The conditions of my life weren’t what you would consider “optimal” for helping a child grow emotionally mature. At a young age, I was too smart and too hardheaded to make things easier. I had a difficult childhood. One that was brought on by circumstances that were no one’s fault but life’s.

At that age, I didn’t understand. But now everything is clear to me — and I blame no one, and forgive everyone, and love everyone who has ever loved me, hurt me, taught me, and made me into who I am today.

You can’t not love someone once you understand them, and you feel their hurt and their wishes, and their longings and heartaches. You can’t not love them once you look through their eyes and see everything as they saw it. We’re all just imperfect beings going through life trying to make the best of what we can. And you can’t fault them for being what you are too — human.