Unfolding

  Too many events lately squeezed my life dry. Different forms of loss plagued my 31 st year of existence. I had renewed hopes and strength to carry myself into finishing my graduate studies, but instead of all emotions set for a grueling reading and writing, my being was swallowed into a deep sorrow that shattered my core. Plus, I have to extend effort to shield myself from distraught as I need all the sanity to function well in front of my colleagues, and most of all, to my students. I am used to broken glasses, cigarette smell, and alcoholic rage growing up as a child, and maybe the next worse thing that could happen to me will be at gun point; however, the sadness I now have is a bullet wound. When I am idle, I cannot read, I cannot look at the letters in silence as memories, events, stories, and recent affairs all come rushing down like floodwater from a broken dam. It even took me awhile to gather wits to write this short note. Songs begin to hurt. I used to jam even to ...