A Blank Canvas

This week has been harsh for me, not because the wheel of my fate is on its very low, not because the arrangements of celestial bodies is on its malicious formation, no.

It's because of my own damn fault.

I must admit, I've done many foolish mistakes in my life. Mistakes that ought not to happen in common life of a common person, mistakes that doesn't suit my age. But I've been very prominent at that. As strange and frustrating as it seems, my stupidity never once cease to amaze me. And now, the accumulation of my ingenious sobriety and my grand hubris has cost me quite a fortune.

Fate calls for payback. I'll do just that.

And now, the time has come for me to do what I supposed to do a long time ago. To put oneself in a miser, spartan way of life. There is exactly no glory in doing this, for this is the clear consequence of my error. It's human to err, they say. So is to rise up over mistakes. One can't dwell on his past folly, or he will cease being human. I'll do just that. 

I will burn the bridge, so as to not let myself be fooled by the illusion of having any choices. Some great deeds are done by people who are driven by the fact that they have no choice. I'll just have to follow on their footsteps. Although, there is nothing great in this decision; really, this is a way to whip my own shoulder, to let the anger and sorrow bleed out from within; to purify my thought. Life has its downs; now I'm climbing my way up again.

My friend once said, if you have a problem, the surest way to make it worse and haunts you for the rest of your life is to pretend that the problem doesn't exist. You must face your problem first, however harrowing, however terrifying it is. Then and only then you can move to the next step: to find the solution. One has to be honest with his own feelings, with his own weakness; a lesson so commonly said it almost sounds like a cliche; but one that will never die out because, well, people do it time and time again. They trip; and then rise up acting that it's not hurt, all the while their bleeding feet paints the floor.

There is no turning back; no use lamenting the dark times; no self-loathing anymore. I will have to accept I am stupid; that I have my own portion of fallacy. And I want to rise up.

Do I have the courage to do deed that have the initial value far greater than any I have been facing before? The bridge is already broken, so no looking back. I am forlorn; the weight of my sword only helps me plunging myself forward. And then, after the heat of battle, I will know better.

Painting the blank canvas.