The stranger’s screams slash into me, as though there were hot stinging rays burning themselves into my heart. I can only shiver - I know this place, this scenario. Maybe every child has gone through it. The tears of the little boy reflect my own, a long time ago.

The adult seems very big then. He’s burly, larger, stronger, enraged eyes set in a mess of wrinkled raw anger. There’s a belt around his waist; a cane on top of the fridge. And his voice is loud. It bellows, echoing and vibrating round the room, deafening in its roar.

The tears come, fast heavy hot tears, sliding down my cheeks, going into my mouth. It’s salty. Mucus rolls down my nose and I can only sniffle. I know without looking at the mirror that my whole face is red.

It’s funny how the red of my teary face can match the red of my father’s infuriated face. It’s really funny. How this two faces are bonded by the same colour, by that same red blood which flows through both of us. And I know both of our hearts are pumping with rapid rapid speed. Blood flows, rushes through us.

Just that his are due to anger, and mine due to fear.

Any moment, he might break into the final course of action, where the hot sting of the cane will fall onto me. Where my screams of pain will cause more whips.

I crash.

Sarcasm. Rightly defined as a cutting, often ironic remark intended to wound. And indeed it's sharp. Biting. The cold sword of which leads on and on for the gullible, the ones easily tricked and deceived. The sick feeling that one might get at first can worsen, driving straight down into your gut. Going lower and lower, slicing deep, hurting much, bleeding lots.

Upset, is perhaps the wrong word. The feelings invade the heart.

And the heart feels torn and shattered. Quiet. It is sapped of energy, after everything has been dashed.

I liken it to seeing someone on the streets. Frail and needy, he confesses he need help. Your heart goes out to him, so overwhelmed with feelings you are. At this moment, you're willing to help, to do almost anything for that person.

The next minute the person has rolled his eyes at you and go, "yea right."

Weary.

It is funny, how I'm never upset at first. I'm taking it normal, sharing my experiences. It is not the topic that 'upsets' me. It is the reaction, the mode you get into that breaks my heart.

I was never upset. I was just sad.

Quiet anguish. Unseen tears.

Grief?

Mourning.

I Wish You Enough-

Recently I overheard a father and daughter in their last moments together. They had announced her plane departure and standing near the security gate, they hugged and he said,
"I love you. I wish you enough."

She in turn said,
"Daddy, our life together has been more than enough. Your love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough, too, Daddy."
They kissed and she left.

He walked over toward the window where I was seated. Standing there I could see he wanted and needed to cry. I tried not to intrude on his privacy, but he welcomed me in by asking,
"Did you ever say good-bye to someone knowing it would be forever?"

"Yes, I have," I replied. Saying that brought back memories I had of expressing my love, and appreciation for all my Dad had done for me. Recognizing that his days were limited, I took the time to tell him face to face how much he meant to me.So I knew what this man was experiencing.

"Forgive me for asking, but why is this a forever good-bye?" I asked.

"I am old and she lives much too far away. I have challenges ahead and the reality is, the next trip back would be for my funeral," he said.

"When you were saying good-bye I heard you say, 'I wish you enough.' May I ask what that means?" I asked.

He began to smile.
"That's a wish that has been handed down from other generations. My parents used to say it to everyone."
He paused for a moment and looking up as if trying to remember it in detail, he smiled even more.
"When we said 'I wish you enough,' we were wanting the other person to have a life filled with just enough good things to sustain them,"
he continued and then turning toward me, he shared the following as if he were reciting it from memory.
"I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright.
I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more.
I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive.
I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger.
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
I wish enough "Hello's" to get you through the final "Good-bye"."

He then began to sob and walked away.

When little gestures are done to make someone feel special.

What does the other party feel like that? All sweet and melting? Warmth spreading throughout? A tiny smile played out at your lips, the curve of which turns up to make for a pleasant-looking face. A warm vibrant laugh. As like a good warm stew, thick and full of goodness on a cold day, giving much needed warmth. A fizzy feeling of surprise and joy in your heart.

It is much better than the feeling of cold fingers surrounding your heart, or that of a heavy heart, that choke out tears.

The tears shed then are sweet tears. Tears that sparken and glisten, catching the light at different angles. Joined with laugher, it is the strangest scene you could ever set your eyes on, but one that would make others feel just that little tug of warmth in the bottom of their heart. It is those happy ending.

Seems to be quite long since I felt like this. Not empty, not numb, but feeling rather happy. Being able to really smile. I could look at the stars, see the sun set, and not feel nostalgic, but instead, light-hearted.

Light-hearted. It seems almost like a dream, but it's true. I feel light-hearted right now. There's no rush. I can sit back. Enjoy the breeze. Admire the stars.

Reminds me of yesteryears.

Lying limp, down in the corner of the dark brown sofa. Breathe one two three, out one two three, in one two three, out one two three. My whole body loose, snuggled into the sofa. I am breathing.

Eyes are open. Looking at the ceiling. And beyond. They look, but for a moment, are unseeing. The next second, it sees the white of the ceiling. And that's all. I am breathing.

Safe. There's something steady about lying there in the sofa. Your words, are deflected and bounced off harmlessly against an invisible shield. I am cool, collected. You can say anything. I am numb. The sofa is able to support my weight. I am breathing.

I could sleep here, in this very sofa. The next minute my last breath could come. My body stiff and cold. My soul to either heaven or hell. I pray it's heaven. Life here is weary. Rest would be welcoming.

Who does not yearn for peace? A soothing joy that flows in the bottom of your heart. A rest beyond our understanding.

Cast your worries onto Him.

Lull me to sleep.