Sunday, May 28, 2006
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Friend
I was walking with this friend I had, and we arrived at a crosswalk. He stepped right out into the street as he said, "I have right of way!"
A truck hit him.
The moral of the story is: You may be right, but you're dead.
A truck hit him.
The moral of the story is: You may be right, but you're dead.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Freedom
I’m looking through the selection when I spot something that might look good. I turn to ask her opinion.
“Do you think these would look nice on me?”
That probably wasn’t a good idea.
“You’re asking for my honest opinion?”
It wasn’t. I should just end it before it begins. But I can’t. I am my own prisoner, chained to the destiny of the small flame I just ignited. I nod.
“I’d rather if you didn’t wear this sort of style. Why don’t you just stick with wearing conservative colors?”
On the outside I roll my eyes. But on the inside, a silent scream rips through me as the small fire bursts into flames. I didn’t ask your advice on how to run my life! I am old enough to make my own decisions! I can do what I want; I can wear what I want! Stop telling me what to do!
---
I must talk this over. I must hear that I’m right. I turn to you. You always tell me I’m right.
“Tell me she’s being unfair,” I cry. “Tell me I can do what I want. Please, tell me I can do what I want!”
But for the first time, you are against me. “I can’t,” you say. “I’m sorry. The only one who can free you is yourself.”
I am hurt. Disappointed. Can’t you help me? Can’t you take my side? But no, you’re telling me to do the impossible. Worse yet, you’re telling me to hurt. But you are the only person I trust.
I will have to trust you again.
---
Later that evening I approach her. It is impossible. I speak haltingly.
“I asked your opinion earlier… and you gave it willingly. But I rejected it completely… I want to tell you that I sincerely appreciate the advice you gave me… You told me what is best for me, and I should not have been angry. I am sorry for rejecting you outright. I am sorry for becoming angry at you.”
There is no sweat on my brow. Strangely, I feel no emotion. But through the deafening silence that is me, I hear the sound of her sobs. I look up, and the tears are streaming down her face.
I am free at last.
“Do you think these would look nice on me?”
That probably wasn’t a good idea.
“You’re asking for my honest opinion?”
It wasn’t. I should just end it before it begins. But I can’t. I am my own prisoner, chained to the destiny of the small flame I just ignited. I nod.
“I’d rather if you didn’t wear this sort of style. Why don’t you just stick with wearing conservative colors?”
On the outside I roll my eyes. But on the inside, a silent scream rips through me as the small fire bursts into flames. I didn’t ask your advice on how to run my life! I am old enough to make my own decisions! I can do what I want; I can wear what I want! Stop telling me what to do!
---
I must talk this over. I must hear that I’m right. I turn to you. You always tell me I’m right.
“Tell me she’s being unfair,” I cry. “Tell me I can do what I want. Please, tell me I can do what I want!”
But for the first time, you are against me. “I can’t,” you say. “I’m sorry. The only one who can free you is yourself.”
I am hurt. Disappointed. Can’t you help me? Can’t you take my side? But no, you’re telling me to do the impossible. Worse yet, you’re telling me to hurt. But you are the only person I trust.
I will have to trust you again.
---
Later that evening I approach her. It is impossible. I speak haltingly.
“I asked your opinion earlier… and you gave it willingly. But I rejected it completely… I want to tell you that I sincerely appreciate the advice you gave me… You told me what is best for me, and I should not have been angry. I am sorry for rejecting you outright. I am sorry for becoming angry at you.”
There is no sweat on my brow. Strangely, I feel no emotion. But through the deafening silence that is me, I hear the sound of her sobs. I look up, and the tears are streaming down her face.
I am free at last.
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