I looked up to see a pair of stern eyes staring down at me. He had the physical features of an old man, and yet when he spoke, he didn't seem old at all, but probably just about my age at least. Behind me, I could here the typewriter's click-click sound. "So how has your life been since?" I was startled at the question. Why should I tell the truth to a stranger? I thought. I wanted to say that life was doing me fine, but he seemed to have read my thoughts and before I could say anything, his gaze bore on me again and said: "Honey Lynne Sy, tell me the truth. Because I would easily know it if you are lying." I gulped, cold sweat forming on my forehead. I quickly wiped it off with the back of my hand. I don't want to answer the question, but every second I spent not answering him, his creepy gaze kept boring into me I couldn't control myself anymore. "It's kinda difficult living nowadays." was all I said. That somewhat satisfied the old man as his look on me softened a bit. "Is that so?" his hands folded in front of him. I nodded. "Tell me about this difficult life of yours?" I gulped again. What do you mind? I wanted to ask, but thought better of it. "Well, there's school, grades and..." I couldn't go on. "And?" He pressed on. Silently, I dropped my eyes and murmured silently. "Friends." "What did you say?" Damn, don't make repeat that again! But I gave in nonetheless. "I'm having problems with my friends." A smile formed across his lips. The nerve of this man to smile on my problems. I wanted to stand up and leave, but my legs seemed to have stuck to the floor. The old man winked at someone behind me, probably whoever was typing on that noisy and irritating typewriter. Then his look went back to me. "Tell me Honey Lynne, what has happened with you and your friends?" Suddenly, that urge came back to me. Everytime someone asks me that question, I want to tell them my problems there and then. But the moment I gave myself time to think before speaking, I would think twice and decide to keep things to myself. The man seems to know my problems but thought it better to hear it first hand from me. Should I tell him? I opened my mouth, but no voice came out. Shamefully, I looked at him with tears in my eyes. "I'm sorry, I can't seem to find the courage to say it." The look on his eyes changed instantly. From that stern and later on seemingly mocking look, it had turned soft and deep in understanding. I continued to sob, and for the first time, no one stopped me from crying. It felt great to let the tears fall, as if my problems were being washed away through the process. "But child, you have to tell." I looked at him again. "Why should I, Father? Didn't you tell me before that I have to settle my own problems? If I tell You, it doesn't make any difference at all. The load you gave me would still wear me down, and I will continue to be my own, lonely and friendless self, living in this world with no purpose at all." Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It gave me the warmth that I needed so much. The old man was standing beside me, a smile on his lips. But it wasn't a mocking smile anymore, instead, a really kind and caring smile. I tried to smile back, but it was pretentious that it disappeared the moment it appeared. "It is true that I can't help you with your problems. It is your burden, your challenge in life. But if you tell me, I assure you, you will find the courage to carry your burden, and you will not find it difficult at all." I was inspired by his words. He handed me a pen and thick stack of papers. "Here. I won't force you to tell me. But write it down, and I promise you, you will feel a lot better." I took it and looked at it for sometime. Should I write it down? Will I find the courage to do so? Just the same, will I find the courage to face my fears? Will I find the courage to carry the burden God has given me?





I guess I will, and I did. By writing this down, I have started on my quest on discovery... of self.