The sound of guns...
The darkness...
The smoke...
Then, oblivion.

Everyday, I am haunted by my nightmares.

Everytime the thunder roll and lightning strikes, I shivered.

Looking outside my window,
I am writing my daily journal and poetry today...
To release all the pains and tensions from my past.

And I wrote..

December 18, 1980
Myshkin, Russia

My beloved,

Have you ever ask yourself...
What's your life purpose?
If..
Are you doing the right thing?
Are you on the verge of confusion, loneliness, unhappiness and being stagnant?
Day dreaming into your own world?

Too much questions filled in your heart and mind.
Too much of everything that you don't want.
Too much!

To clear out my confusion and to have more clarity about myself, I dig deeper inside me.
Reminiscing my childhood moments and cherish them.
Facing the darkest and painful moments of my memories.
Those memories of repeating horror, memories of loss, memories of death.

Yes, I did face it all.
I cried hard.
After decades of those patterned memories...
This is the first time that I realized..
How I treated myself so badly.

And I really wanted to give back to myself.
By appreciating my past.

Appreciate yourself more...
Love yourself more...
And you will discover more...

I have discovered each words, all feelings, expression, harmony just fits well to take steps in writing this poem for my past.

***A LETTER FOR MY PAST SELF***

My dearest self in the past...
I have been visiting you lately in a vast...
You are carefree, immature and FEARLESS,
You go out more, loving the sun and grasses,
Full of sweat and sun-kissed from above.

Joyous days, feet touching stones and green
Oh How glorious those days have been
Flowing like water in every storms within
And wind touches, caressing my skin
Telling me, It's ok dear, everything has it's purpose".
A path full of journey and a dead rose

All those rise and fall, I am with you...
All those tears and laughter, I am with you..
I am always with you til the end of time

The Last Heiress of Oblonsky, Beatrix

I opened my eyes, I could feel its soreness and cloudy vision. I can see their blurry images and only hear their voices clearly. 


I'm listening closely to their conversation. 


"Doctor Koskinen, thank you for coming! She was having a convulsion earlier and chattered her teeth uncontrollably that frightened us. Yes, she opened her eyes but seemed unable to see us, just like right now" a voice of a man sounded worried, in a conversation. 


THE VISION