Wherefore does suffering exist?

We must be grateful for opposites. Without one, we cannot fully appreciate and understand the other. Because the sun sets thus bringing darkness to the earth, we - or at least I - tend to feel relief in the coming dawn...when I remember that it is not my place to assume the world works predictably. It is not my place to expect the sun to rise.

My point is, if we are to know joy, we must know suffering. It makes sense. Perfectly logical, linear thought.

Most who have suffered too much demand - as is their right - why so much must weigh them down, test them, rip them apart from the inside. What did they do to deserve such pain?

Most who have not had to suffer for their lives do not question their luck, do not marvel in the miracle they might have been spared. Why is it perfectly normal to take it all for granted?

I do not know where I fit in, to be honest. I believe that I am one of the lucky ones who has not had to suffer for the great life I have had thus far. All suffering was given to my parents and those before them.

I have wondered lately if perhaps I haven't suffered, haven't been dealt a harsh blow because someone up there, God knows that I can't handle it. This is one of my greatest fears. I can't handle it. Delicate by nature is me, perhaps.

My life is hardly over. I'm barely through it so who am I to tempt fate? Who am I to say I know I'll remain as I am? In fact, I hope that's not the case. As much as I know I should dread it, prepare for it and possibly run for the hills, I am most stupidly waiting for my turn to suffer with impatience and doubt that it might never come.

With suffering comes change, growth, wisdom and...joy. I wish for joy, but not without the knowledge that I'll get mine. Someday.

Blast from the past

I was thinking about my journal habits after being asked by a good friend if I am a regular diary keeper. The answer isn't quite yes. I love diaries, journals, notebooks, stationary, smooth ink pens and even nicely sharpened No. 2 pencils. I love writing utensils, but I am terribly inconsistent about using them on a regular basis. I checked up on my old blog haunts in high school. I had/have a Xanga and livejournal. I actually remembered my username and password! Miracles beyond miracles, no? It's been 5 or so years since I last checked in on them. I was quite the case of teenage angst. I probably still am and in 5 years or so when I read my entries here I'll think that I was a whiny 20-something. Ah, maturity.

Anyway, my point is I'm happy to have a sort of paper trail of where my thoughts and musings have gone and went and grown since I was 15. It's cool to look back and think about where I was and who I was when those entries were written.

Currently, I'm trying to get back into writing fiction, but I can't seem to find my flow and depth of content. Nothing is coming together. All is fragmented. Much like my sentence structuring, I suppose.

Say you're a relatively active person in all thing literary and you're craving for something new to read, what would it be about? Can anyone share some inspiration? I seem to have run dry.

Be back soon. xo