From December 12

Two years ago today, at about this time, I learned what it was like to have a life ripped out from under me, what it was to know that happiness and love are illusions and that belief in either is the most foolish thing anyone could ever hold. It took almost two years to move from pitying myself because I couldn't believe my best friends had actually left me for both of those things. Now, I am as healed as I will ever be but I am changed. The walls I had built around myself and that were destroyed, never came back. Instead, steel grew in me, infiltrated me. I am a realist but I still hope.

My life is a sea of motion and I ride it. Outside, I make my own way, I race against time because I know that "we all owe death a life", and that "to be born again, first you have to die". That's some good old Salman Rushdie. That's some good old truth. I like it, because there's hardly any of it.

One day, someone accused me of wanting to save the world. I would love to save the world but I'm not an idiot. No one can save the world. No one's "got the whole world in his hands". I know that nobody changes, no one can change anyone else, and to think otherwise is foolish. I can't save anyone, including myself. I do know, though, that I can't sit back ad do nothing while I watch the human race blow itself to hell. One at a time. I will try to instill respect, rationality, acceptance in. I am not too optimistic. But I have to try.

I will spend my life trying. I will die trying because I know that the civilian becomes the soldier and the soldier, often, cannot understand himself as a pawn and cannot live with himself. In other clothes, the soldier we view as merely collateral is the civilian we mourn. There is no difference. Both deaths, on all sides, are just as tragic. Both are human deaths no matter how "wrong" or "right", how brainwashed or aware.

Because I'm me, I look everywhere, so I have to borrow this: "there's a cross for everyone and there's a cross for me". Amazing Grace. Am I running away from my own pain by focusing on that of the world? No. I have been in pain enough and I will continue to be. So will the world. The problem is, many people are incapable of pain: killing is a hobby. Pain signifies the humane within the human. If you can't feel pain, essentially, beneath the post traumatic stress, then there's a real problem. I swear I'm not a sadist or a masochist, but my goal is to make sure that if pain is warranted, it is capable of being felt. My goal is to make the human race, in very small doses, humane. Perhaps, the virus will spread.