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zekym

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Cheer up dear reader. You are a masterpiece.

You may say you have quite the three fourths of the earth's weight above your shoulders and it might sound a little of just "pambobola" to tell you that you are unique and that you are different from the people around you.

But you are. Because you are a work of art and every art piece is created with unique identity that separates it from the rest.

Let's say, in order to be called a work of art, a piece must possess a story literally and figuratively. In spite of being so still and inanimate, it gives freedom to an overflow of thoughts and ideas.

It has depths shaved suitably to accentuate the leaves of infinite curiosity of theobservers.

It must provide the "unseen image" or the picture that is not observed but felt. A conceptwhich evolves and travels through the vividness of one's imagination - that is what an artist encodes into his creation.

Just like what the great artist up there did. He made us. He gave us superiority muchbeyond those dainty art pieces on papers. He instilled in us something that needs not be displayed in order to function – our heart and mind.

I know because just like you I am his masterpiece.

You know for a long time, I have been a victim of insecurities. I went through phases of cursing my curly hair, and my small body build, and my not tan but very dark skin, and so on and so forth. Imagine the cycles made by the hands of the clock wasted by my rituals in front of the mirror, and thinking how I could look different instantly. I also wished I was tall and big enough so that I can be a credible bully. Small things huh!

I'm sick with an autoimmune disorder. A disease I'll carry on throughout my life. I went through an unending cycle of depression. Painful ulcers occurred all over my mouth and throatevery month.

I needed to starve myself for weeks in order to lessen the pain. I lost at least a quarter of my total weight. It was hilarious. It was so wickedly painful that just because I needed to fight,my pain tolerance adjusted itself until the point of being so seemingly numb in the worst way.

I stopped and now I'm delayed of schooling. was so close to giving up. But He didn'tgive up on me. I spelled Him anonymous but he continuously identified himself in ways only he is able to. I felt His magic wand patching my heartaches. He has this weird yet magnificent way of sneaking into one's mind and slapping that sleeping consciousness.

He leme back to reality - in my faulty life story.

It's not a perfect story but neither does anyone else's story. It's just that from my experience, I learned to consider what most people call as "pasakit" as His way of adding some depth into my raw canvass. Instead of looking at it as trials, I now see them as responsibilities. And I'm glad to be entrusted of those.

I'm not perfect art but still a masterpiece.

Just as how Mona Lisa remains pleasing with no brows and wide forehead or how the obscenity of Michelangelo's David is displayed artistically.

Just as how Jovy Sasutona, a Filipino artist, became paralyzed from the neck down but pursued his passion to paint by his mouth, or, how Jessica Cox, from being born without arms, learned to fly an airplane.

They are just two of the imperfect forms of art who doesn't live a perfect life butmanaged to exist with what's left with them and presented their selves beautifully.  There are many more imperfect art pieces out there, including us, including you. Each of us has a distinct story to tell.

We are masterpieces in progress. Our life is a never ending roll of canvas and how we make our journey is how we paint ourselves eternally.

We are the art pieces without the artist's signature. Obtaining that signature would seem to be a big challenge, nevertheless the worthiest reward as well.

Omit that frown and smile! The rest will never be easy. No one said it will be. The canvass may be rough but it isn't always rough. It may tear once you rub too hard but then you'll realize how to stroke lighter next time.

Be afraid not. You never paint aloneYou have the master craftsman up there! I tell you, he works exceptionally.


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I asked Him for an answer. He answered but I didn't notice until I realized He did. I was too busy waiting for the reply I wanted.
He lend me what I needed. The thing is "I make decisions. And answers depend on it."
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If only I were a writer,
I could have written the most perfect story of my life (i'd like to believe there is more than just perfect). It will sound good and everyone will leave the last words of that story with a smile in their heart because they knew they learned something.

Yes, I am no writer (how I wish I am) but I am an artist (proud!). So let me paint your monitor not the way a writer would write the curves on your mouth instead the way I like it to shine.

My! I'm sounding so serious here!
I was inspired by this blog right inside this www.sarahwilson.com.au/2010/02… . If in case you're tired of opening another tab and browsing through the seemingly endless stuff (I know you are), it's about ways to cope with autoimmune disorder from someone whose already been there.

Autoimmune disorder is a general term for somewhat like crazy people who hurt themselves(just to say a figurative example), because it actually happens inside the body. Your immune system(or your soldiers) instead of defending your body(the king/queen/precious one/etc.) from foreign bodies(villains), mistakenly attacks your own system, harming it and making you totally defenseless. Makes you susceptible to any kind infection. When you have AI, you live with it for the rest of your life. All you do is fight off its symptoms.

(What a world!) I know. I should know because unfortunately I'm suffering from AI. Mine is called Behcet's disease. It will start off a little ulceration on your mouth which would suddenly blast into your whole cheeks, lips and throat. Real large and painful. Every month it would return. My siblings would come home with french fries and pizzas  (oh my, mouth watering!). I would want to grab a piece but all I can do is be envious and hide my face under the pillow (damn!, are they not sensitive?). I want to taste them but I can't because it's painful (ever tried chewing barbed wire?). I end up starving myself for the whole week (cause every occurrence lasts for more than a week).

Symptoms would branch then branch will have branches and branches will bear branches. I already have a tree of illness! True, more than physical pain, having AI disorder is distressing. You'll start having long nights of thinking and thinking. What could have gone wrong? Why you of all people? Why now? You'll go through the whole depression cycle over and over. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression until the point you are doubting if you're ever to reach acceptance.

It's been four years. I stopped schooling. Starting to have joint pains. I've been immune of the pain. I'm feeling it but I'm not feeling it. It's the way to describe it. Seriously it felt like my pain tolerance level reached the maximum - but this is not a good thing. (You may ask me why).

Moving on. I realize having AI was necessary. I needed to feel the pain. I needed to think. I needed to learn that this is what I did to myself. It's the fruit of long sleepless nights, everyday fast food, less family communication and stress - anything on your environment which makes you anxious about. What we gain is what we feed our self.

More importantly, I needed it to know I am important. My self is my wealth(seem so overly used but it's true).
Forcing your self to do whatever it is that is needed of you isn't necessary. Pushing yourself so hard for anything that would benefit you or someone else is not good. Do it and you'll see that the benefit doesn't equate the process of getting it. Anything that is forced doesn't come out smooth (I believe so).

I'm still not fixed at this moment. I don't know when will I be but I'm working towards my progress. I don't think I made you smile. Haha. Told you I'm not a writer :D

Tired with life? Don't be. Love your life and it will love you back.
You are precious. So take care.
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Much gratitude,
kilan
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