Striations are not only on myocardium.

I feel the striations on my soul once again.

But are they new? Or have they been there all this while? Or have I, in my journey through this life, created them out of the mess that I have plunged myself into?

So many things have happened since the Celtics won the cup. And now I realize that I have even less time to blog, yet I feel the need to do so.

Maybe it was because I took a trip down that virtual memory lane that is past blog posts, reliving the typed stories of a boy, who now has to grow into a man, yet desperately clings on to the shreds of freedom and happiness that childhood left behind. All in a blog dressed up with a Sun Embryo, which I have yet to see.

Sun Embryo

I am almost disgusted at what I wrote. Some whimsical, some shallow, and some simply a projection of language with no content. I came close to shutting down this blog, like I did with the last. And the one before that, and the one before that, and....

I did write, long ago, that I loved this blog like it was a child of mine, and that is true to some extent. A child you create, you feed and nurture, you try to mould it to become what you think it should be like. A child is dirty, a child is selfish, a child is ruthless, and a child knows no social barriers. A child will present the truth as it is, and as much as you try to disguise it by dressing it up with fancies, the truth still lurks like a bad Chinese dinner ready to rise and deal a merry dance on the walls of the digestive tract.

And it is important that you be proud of you child no matter how they might turn out to be, and to show them to the world.

I am in a pit that I dug for myself, here at the bottom of the world, and if I don’t start digging myself out of it, I may never be able to.

Help me, God, lest I start breaking out into Linkin Park songs.