I’m longing for a change, a beautiful one. I’m willing to cross a disinclined path, I’m willing to endure the pain of undying patience it requires me, I’m willing to sacrifice my reality over a thousand illusive plots in my head to come up with a set of pragmatic dreams. I just want a change, I’m dying to see one, I wish to feel one before cynicism starts to creep back into me, swathe my soul, and chain up my heart.

They say the only constant thing in this world is change. But I’ve been suffering from a constant need of consistency. Whenever things start to fall apart, I would try to take a hard grip on them desperately, like a child candidly believing her parents when they say everything would go back to its place when they get messed up, misled with a fantasy that everything will really going to be alright even if they wouldn’t. Change is the consolation for all the bad luck in the world but I’ve always been afraid of it. I’ve seen how ‘changes’ sprinkled false hope into the land of hopeless, damaged people and caused real casualties to the lives of those who are overly sensitive.

I’ve always been on the edge of whatever is opposite of glory. I’ve always felt that I’m losing track of the course that I need to sanely traverse. Sometimes, I would question the purpose of human existence in general because the purpose of my existence alone is a very tricky and painful subject to ponder on. Sometimes, I would discover bits and pieces of the bad changes that have pierced through inside me unsolicited. Frustrations, among other sentiments—bad or good, light or tough—would come after that.

This world, the dwelling of the alive, dying, and the forgotten, is making me feel out of place. Change is the definitive transition in life yet I couldn’t exactly define it. Today, I’m a slave of the impossible desire to fast-track my life. I’m reluctant to dissect the changes that I needed to accept and absorb before triumphing over a finish line first than the others, if ever it would actually happen.

Nevertheless, change also heals and it light hopes to a candle that melted into a sad figure. I acknowledge that it is indeed the only constant thing in this world, the only chance that you could cling on to whenever you are on the edge of whatever is opposite of glory. And so I’m longing for a change, a beautiful one, betting on even the thinnest radiance I could see behind the wide ocean of dark clouds up in the sky.