the threads in her head

A new school day.

Was the chinese character for heart written by a woman? Was it written in sorrow? If it was I feel for her, sincerely with all my heart. How heavy and slow her stokes must have been, as she pulled the brush across paper, dragging the strokes out. Those words, bold and black, almost fat and from full feelings of quiet pain and anguish.

Did tears fell from her eyes as she wrote? Did they smudged and blurred the character, just as how our heart can be so overwhelmed with layers of sadness? Did she just took another piece of paper from a side, and tried, again.

I sighed. People wonder at it, they question and ask why I do so.

How do I explain, that overbearing feeling that comes over me halfway through a conversation, that urge to let it out, the effects of that quiet soft sigh expressed. But yet it relieves only a little.

On Sunday, standing up there on stage, he said that prayer was the best solution to worry and grief. He read out the passage where Peter fell asleep when Christ was praying, for the Lord to take this cup of agony and wrath away, if possible. And he mentioned how sleep was a way to cope, but not the best way.

Well then. If the time to sleep, to rest has been lacking, and the Lord is not felt when I prayed - when I am already unsure in my prayers - who do I turn to then?

I AM tired. It's not just the physical tiredness that ails me, that causes me to fall asleep at school and thus nearly or do land up in trouble. But I am also mentally exhausted.

If this is already like that.. then what's going to happen when the full realisation that I'm a sinner dawns upon me with all its intensity?