I was adding the final touches to a proposal I was doing when, after going through it, it suddenly dawned on me that it was becoming an ode of some sorts. I am still surprisingly amazed at what I was doing, having just recently acquired this particular skill, but for a total novice, I am truly proud of the outcome.
As I was going through the work one final time for the day, a habit that my late mentor instilled in me, I stopped and smiled. You see, I always write from the heart, always. Anyone who knows how I write will vouch that whatever it is that I pen, it always comes from what I truly feel for that particular subject at the particular time of writing it. I am far from a great writer, not even a good one, but one thing I know is I always write from the heart.
The work I am currently doing is extremely personal to me, and as I painfully and steadfastly poured through the work, page after page, line after line, word after word, I realized that I did the work from a place of melancholic longing.
So, I stopped for a while.
I went out to the veranda to gaze at the non-existent stars, and as I looked around at the lights that adorned the different buildings within my sight, my gaze was pulled to the bright green and red neon lights. As I stared at it, a sudden pang of pain ripped through my innermost core, and subconsciously, I asked myself, “how could the light of justice turn into darkness in a blink of an eye?”
No answer.
My thoughts were suddenly brought back to those 10 awful days in June. It was when the light of justice, once one of my biggest comforts and inspirations, the light that brought me so much self-belief and joy, started to slowly metamorphosed into darkness.
And ever since then, while there were flickers here and there, it was mostly darkness. In the last 10 months, as I figured out what to do with my life, I held on to the hope that someday, the light of justice will shine again. Even if it’s not to be my guide as I rebuild my life, my wish is that it will serve as a guiding light to someone else. I hope that the light of justice will be able to shine once again and give hope and inspiration to those who tread the same path as I once did.
Comforted by the hope that swelled in my melancholic heart, I went back to work and relooked at what I have done with the same purposeful diligence and attentiveness that I am known for.
As I was finishing my work, I was suddenly reminded and comforted by a vision of my last trip to Libya, and for whatever reason, a sense of calmness spread through my fearful soul.
Perhaps, in order to forget, we must remember.