dela rosa.

our young writer closes his eyes.
he envisions himself walking a path. trees surround him. the road is unpaved and rocky.
carnivorous beast surround him but do not attack.
he walks alone...even his shadow has refused to follow. God has forsaken him.

he is unarmed. only his thoughts serve as weapons.
he walks the path untraveled.
the road less beaten.
everyone told him to go the other direction.
except one.

but he ignored their warnings.
he did as he saw fit..not for anyone else. but for himself.

he recalled a conversation with a distant friend

"why would you do that.? thats so stupid, tarrance. i know you know that."
"you're right. but Jesus walked the dela rosa to clean your shortcomings. to erase your fuck-ups. wasn't that stupid too.?" he replied.

it made sense.
and thus he began his journey.

the end. or. the beginning.

thoughts swarm as the young writer sits in a Wendy's to begin the first entry of his "new" blog.

"where to start.? how.? why bother.? i haven't the strength."

anger engulfs him as he sighs heavily. he makes a phone call for some reassurance but hangs up before it rings. no one can help him now. no one.
it is a fact that he has long known but has refused to acknowledge.
he wonders how he got here. clenching his teeth he relives the past year of his life.

"its got to be my karma. thats the only reason."

he begins.
he has regained his spartan reserve. blank face. hidden eyes. hair matted.

things had begun to look up for our hero. he was finally content with life. not happy but content.
besides from the fact that by the end of the month he'd be totally alone again, he was okay.

he began to look for other things to do. putting off this very blog...trying to tuck away his emotions. he realized that he had no escape.

he began.
and then...a phone call came.
a call he expected but didnt want.
a call he wanted but didnt expect.
a call that made him angry and smile simultaneously.
a call that he almost rejected.

"tabula rasa" repeated in his head. it means new start in sawhili. clean slate.
he answered. silence.
he knew what it meant. the call spoke for itself.

thoughts rushed to his head.
"is it possible for someone to hate and love the same person. not a playful hate but to seriously hold disdain for them.? is it possible for one to hate and love with the same heart.? what matters beyond one or the other.?"

then stevie wonder sings, "what am i supposed to do? sit up waiting for you...but if you really love her..."

love: its such a fragile thing. if it exist at all. it doesnt.
"so what makes me stay? ignorance. foolishness. no...its not those. i know who i am.
Tarrance Bernard Foster II. better than the first but worse than the next. not the man i want to be but not the boy i was. i live an unfair life. i live a painful life. but what makes me stay to endure.? is it love? is it compassion? is it cause i do have the very vessel that makes the strong strong and the weak weak? no.
its none of this. what makes me love, what makes me endure is the fact that i am weak. i cannot make it alone so i leach onto others. and my weakness has given me more heartache than anything else. i am a man. but i am weak."

and with these words he wondered if his next endeavor would be the way of the weak or the way of the strong. to let the beginning reset or let the end remain.
strong or weak.
only time will tell...