A darkness was setting in. I had enough of the lies as glass shattered across the facade of the house; a protest to everything domestic and secure.
In the deep recesses of my heart, a darkness imploded followed by a fallout of utter despair. Laying on the driveway was the aftermath: glass shards, chow mien noodles and an escaping plastic bag. And no Katy Perry, I did not identify myself with the bag drifting down the sidewalk. There were no fireworks. I never felt so much sadness in my life and this was certainly the first time in a while my nihilistic-self felt anything for that matter. I felt dark matter. A weight of mass and condemnation compacted my heart. Sobbing, I could barely breathe. This is how I would begin my Thanksgiving - an Asian and his spilled chow mien.
It felt rather hypocritical celebrating a day to be thankful when I just wasn’t thankful. Giving thanks didn’t feel natural. Especially, regarding grace and unmerited favor that was given, in spite of me. The greatest gift of life is life. Somehow, in the struggle to survive, I managed to live and my friend didn’t. I should have intervened and/or laid down my life for him. The guilt that ensues from that regret is a pain and a thorn that never quite goes away. It doesn’t matter how resilient one thinks they are, such a psychological pain will break any biological being.
Yet, it is in our moments of weakness that God in his mercy, reveals himself to us. This season, I’m learning that it is okay to be weak. Sometimes you have to break away from your environment. And sometimes you end up camped up in the middle of the Mojave desert underneath the stars that faithfully shimmer the entire night. Of course while simultaneously falling asleep to Andrew Belle’s Black Bear.
The world didn’t seem so bad for a moment.