Epitaph

We all have our fair share. Of downturns. Bad hair days. Booboos. Boohoos.

I think this is mine.

For all that’s been said and done. For all that’s left unsaid and undone.

Sometimes you think about it. How this kind of bad has gone far, long and wide.

Some five, six years ago, I didn't know it will turn out this way. It was not
meant to be this way. Nobody can plan ahead, something so perfectly
bad. It was a beautiful picture that turned into an ugly memory. Why?

So let me, in the last last days of my life, to look back , I will find this part like a scythe hanging way above my head. It probably represents that pain tremendously bigger and more powerful than me. It’s like looking into a portrait so closed to perfection, pretty with all the colors except that there’s a small hole right smacked there ... that part which was intended to look good. If that was Michael Angelo's Monalisa, that hole was ruining that little smile, that was supposed to be make it famous.

Me, this is my bad. I take the blame for all the pain and the shame. I allowed this to happen. I did not do anything. I did not do the right thing. I prayed little. My faith was little. I made serious mistakes and offenses. I consented to each and everyone of them.

Human error of grave miscalculation, insensitivity, pride. God’s favorite angel’s downfall.

In all the pluses and minuses of my life, I have only two regrets. This is one of them.

So I leave this painful, important lesson to my child:

The problem with wrong judgment is because it is wrong. The problem with too late is, it is late. We all have to live with that and bring it to our lonely graves ... so i teach my daughter, Sophie, each time, she has the chance ... honey dear, "I hope you grab it, and dance."




(They have no use. So please omit flowers.)