I have never had much love for March before, but now, it’s getting worse. The hostility is mostly triggered by the fact that this month barely provides me with room for breath. Resting is now a rare moment of bliss that doesn’t come easily: my sleep schedule is far messier than my desk in the office—a harsh mockery indeed, given that the latter looks like something out of a warehouse.
In a way, I might have almost lost myself once or twice this month. If March was a big old building, my path happened to be so close to where the hole in the wooden floor deepened. Everything was hard but fragile—not easily scratched, but could effortlessly be crushed. I became someone different: unrecognizable to some; neutral to most; but unlikeable to me. And I think that was the last straw that finally sent March reeling straight into the dumper.
For better or worse, the commotion has caused me to swallow a bad vitamin. What appears to taste so bad turns out to be quite essential to bolster some parts of me though. It’s like learning that giving trust easily to a friend brings no good, but a betrayal from your closest makes you stronger. Or like a mischievous kid climbing the stairs, falling from the height, hurting from the chest to back, learning what the “do not” sign is for.
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March, it seems, has been an array of those things. Some scenes from exactly a year ago emerge, reminding me that when life happens it happens. Just don’t dwell on it too much. With that said, I won’t forget the bad, but I don’t want the venom to escalate more than it should here either, so let me just post these several photographs I took and felt quite proud of this month. Here comes the dumps:
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