Writers of life

I imagine all of us as writers, scribbling away our life stories. There are some chapters worth telling, while other chapters are only shared with a handful of people. It's a nice thought isn't it? It makes me believe that each of us has the power to write what is to come. If only. Though it is somewhat true, once in a while, someone or something else holds the pen, once in a while as we flip though the next blank page, we found our stories have already been written. Whether it's by God or the universe or fate or what ever you believe in, sometimes we just have no control. How do we face this? Some fates are just too little to be bothered, others however can prove to be a turning point in your life. It could be an experience, a place or a person, or even chains of events that lead you to where you were destined to be. If that is the case, then we are left to wonder if anything we have written so far is actually our own control. 

I find that there is one consistant theme that plays throughout the chapters of my life, which is; struggle. I struggle to fit in, to adapt, to accept and to carry on. And I realised one thing, the reason behind all of it was and is because I am struggling alone. Though I do enjoy my solitude, it has proven time and time again that it is also a curse. Some days, I convinced myself that it doesn't matter, that I am strong enough to face life on my own. Other days, I'm so overwhelmed that I'm drowning. And the cycle continues.

So, do I believe that my life is fated to be this way forever? That I have no control over what I write in my life's story? My answer is yes, and no. If my life was chosen to carry this lonesome tone then so be it. But as long as I still have a fire inside of me, fighting to break though, then I will keep on going, I will keep writing over them until my fire dies out. It's a lesson I have yet to learn, a challenge I have to face on every chapter of my life until I do. I only pray that it will make me a better human being in the end, instead of tearing away pieces of my spirit and soul, like a book lice slowly eating my life.