It was my lesson. I just couldn’t see it before.
I’ve been away from my soul for a little too long that words seem to run away from the tips of my fingers. Every tap on the keyboard sounds like broken glass, every figure on screen looks like shattered dreams. Tonight, behind the gentle snowfall in January, once again I beautifully dance with my alphabets.
Like an eagle learning to fly for the first time, I fell and hit the ground far too many times within the last quarter. Finally finding my balance, finally being able to feel the wind beneath my wings, I once again find the passion for my world. Once again, I found my passion for politics, for the paradox between superficial egotistic interests and grand visions of a better world.
When I was young and naive, barely had the strength to stand on my feet, I was under the wings of a great man who believed that the world can be better. That what he does, make all the difference; that what he does will lay grounds for the sustainable development of a better world. He taught me how to be strong, he taught me how to believe in dreams, he taught me how to live. He was my hero.
But just like everything else in the world, only change is certain. Slowly I watched him wither, slowly I see life fading away from his eyes. It breaks my heart to see that what’s left in him is nothing but a forgotten dream. Filled with bitterness, he retreats from life, believing that another path will bring sweet serenade. Like a warrior defeated, he’d rather be a mercenary. His wings are now too weak to fight for both our winds. What is left is only a few feathers that would fly him home. Wounded, he perched on a tree, telling me to go ahead and find my way, telling me not to fear getting lost for I will always be able to find my way back, because his light no matter how weak will beam for me from a thousand miles away.
Not having his wings to shape the wind for me, I suddenly have to fly solo. I no longer have a wind breaker. I fell hard and broke my wings. All he could do is look from a distance, sending me glances that said, “You can do it. You have all you need to soar. Stand tall, try again.”
Licking my wounds, afraid of taking another leap, I seek to see what he would have done had he had to conquer the storm. And there I see it! I feel it! I realised that my fall was because I thought the wind had changed. That it was a different terrain because suddenly hard gusts of wind blew against me, from what was usually a soft gentle breeze. It wasn’t the wind that changed. It was me!
My mentor has finished his journey. My mentor has finished his mission. But mine still lie vast ahead. He has taught me well that I can find my own way through the storm. The dark skies are steps away from me now. Sounds of thunder have shaken my ground, warning me of what’s to come. But this time I am ready. Let the storm come, I will not fight the wind but I will master every blow, knowing that even in the dark, one light shines my way.
A free soul once said, that people started out with their ideals in hand, but then their spirit slowly die with the stream of bureaucracy. Even after they’re zombified, sometimes a flicker of hope stays in them, believing that they are making a difference in the world. It’s that hope that keeps the world going. It’s that hope that gives light to the next warrior.
Thank you. For everything. You, are my hero.
