Life Last versus Lost Life

“Does Jamaica finds pride when its death toll outnumbers the previous year’s?”

Logically, that should be an absurd question, but a closer look will quickly void all views of lucidity.

While most countries of the world, in particularly Japan, takes pride in the growth and maintenance of its population and utter shame in death tolls, when it comes to Jamaica, it is unclear about its feelings towards the deaths of Jamaican citizens.

A blatant disregard of human life was recently aired on Jamaica’s television, CVM, gained extended views on social media and caught my attention when it was posted on Facebook.

The video which showed a blurred image of a man, who was shot, laying on the ground and struggling to stay alive, while surrounded by police officers, made me sick to my stomach as I watched in disbelief and listened to the voices of off-cam bystanders, uttering their resentment for what they were witnessing.

It is one of the most inhumane and disgusting footage I have ever watched, online, and the Jamaica Constabulary Force should be condemned for such stance.

I say “one of” because this follows a video footage, which was also posted online, recently, by teenagers in the USA, who giggled and uttered words of disregard, while filming a drowning man.

It appears that the teens were high on drugs and or alcohol, at the time, and although this does not justify their actions nor provide a clear understanding, those factors coupled with their undeveloped, youthful brains could at least bring us to a perception’s stalemate.

But I refuse to put responsible adults, who are trusted to serve as a part of a country’s national security, in the same category as ignorant juveniles.

Police officers are put in place, by government bodies, for citizens and visitors to feel safe within a country, and by safe this includes, serving as a refuge and protecting life, by all means necessary; thus, to stand by and do nothing as a fellow human being bleeds out profusely, making no attempt to aid him, must warrant being a crime, somewhere between the pages of Jamaica’s constitution.

Life should last as long as we can aid it to last, and the life of a human being should never be last to consider.

If a violation of this opinion is not a crime, in respect of man-made laws, it is certainly a moral crime among humanity, and as a Jamaican, who is proud to be from a country, which is considered one of Earth’s paradise, for having exquisite beauty, a unique culture and some of the warmest human beings on the planet, my level of patriotism has been surpassed by my pride for Jamaica, when they should be level-pegging.

Pride, in my opinion, means a personal happiness and bragging rights received from an embraced ownership of anything perceived as good or positive.

Patriotism, in my opinion, means a loyal citizen, who stands by his or her country and calls it home, despite its growth’s directions.

Over the years, gangster-style policing in Jamaica has created more mistrust and criminals, in the Country, than it has decreased crime; whereas, the citizens have no faith in the due process procedures, and often take matters into their own hands, despite being govern by democratic laws.

Police, often kill alleged criminals in Jamaica, which creates a wondering, if they too (the police) doubt the due process of Jamaica’s courts system and are playing judge and jury.

Considering my definitions and my uneven declaration, which is undoubtedly equally shared by many other Jamaicans, the government of Jamaica has a job to do, and that job is to make all Jamaicans, near and far, see Jamaica as not just a place where they are from, but to see it as home.

Home in the fullest sense of the word; home, a place where we feel most safe and secure.

© Ian T. Sebàs

© Ian T. Sebàs 2017

Switzerland: Clever or Criminal

My prolific reputation has gained substantial growth from the exercise of my God-given personality, which appears to be unique, although I must also accredit my culture and stern upbringing for the individual which I turned out to be.

Most of my actions and reactions toward general matters are usually deemed as unprecedented, when they are compared to the average person in a modern society, and despite being law-abiding, the extra-ordinary behaviours which I tend to exude, from time to time, have thrown me under the light of being a suspected criminal rather than to be acknowledged as a strong individual.

Living in Switzerland, a Country which is regarded, by me, as most orderly, most clean and possesses one of the world’s best standard of life, I honour its laws, its history and its current status. But Switzerland is no exception when it comes to crime; after all, crimes are committed by people and people are what makes up the Swiss population, and like most modern-day world, Switzerland has opened its doors to a variety of nations, and among those who have entered, myself included, are a variation of nationalities aka foreigners.

And as it is renowned, foreigners come with rumored reputations, which tend to lead to prejudicial expectations; i.e. If you are from Africa, the trust factor, for you, compared to another foreigner, who is from another European country, is of a different tier; for each foreign citizen, exist an expectation, which in most case is criminal.

I believe that maybe someone with a doctorate degree, in so-called Human Studies and Psychological Behaviour, convinced the world’s government that studies can indeed foretell the behaviours of us, based upon the country in which we were born.

If you find yourself laughing, at this moment, please make it brief because this is as serious as death.

My unprecedented actions, so far, include migrating to Switzerland, where I did not know anyone nor where the country was actually located, and I can see from another person’s point of view, where that could create suspicion of me being, maybe, a criminal on the run or maybe I am a spy for some top secret organization, but the reality is, I am just a man, who knew that I could move to and live in Switzerland, considering the satisfaction of its immigration laws, and that’s what I did. – That I will accredit to my years of sitting in classrooms, where some of my intelligence were gathered.

While living in Switzerland, I have returned valuable gifts, quit jobs without the promise of a new one, sued employers, walked when I could not afford to drive, stayed hungry when I could not afford food, went without new clothes, lived in poor conditions and smiled when I ought to be crying. This I will accredit to my culture, Jamaica; Jamaicans are brought up to be tough, sacrificial and be faithful to a God, who will never give them more than they can bear, and moreover, to deprive oneself of dignity is the lowest fall of all.

And with these unprecedented acts added, more suspicions arise, because according to the trusted studies, no man can be that strong nor that sacrificial, and somewhere in my story, a lie is expected to be uncovered and new truth found.

Switzerland having one of the world’s best quality of life does possess a social welfare system with the purpose of making sure that none of its inhabitants live below the poverty line, but within that support are pros and cons.

Despite being the law of the land which gives me legal right to be supported by the State, my cultural beliefs have led me to find shame in such support, even if I am unemployed; I am young, strong, educated and has no physical incapability, therefore, I should be able to work.

But when someone, like me, claims to be unemployed and still refuse to be supported by the State, it creates criminal suspicion rather than seen as moral ambition.

My last unprecedented action was when I appealed a judgment of a Swiss Court, and won, which made national news. And for a brief moment I was famed for the action, which must have shredded the results of human behavioural studies, considering that I am a foreigner, who was born in Jamaica and lives in Switzerland.

The very next day after I was seen on television, by millions, I was approached by a stranger, in a supermarket, who asked if I spoke English. After answering “yes”, the expected question of “Where are you from?” followed and I answered “I was born in Jamaica, grew up in the USA and lived many years in the UK”. She said that she too lived in the USA and was from Jamaican and African parentage; happy to have common grounds, we were both delighted and exchanged contact info.

She later contacted me and declared some of her personal problems, which included being undocumented in Switzerland and wanting to find a job. She was clear in asking if I knew where she could find “cash in hand” employment which required no tax nor personal identification. I then informed her that Switzerland is as strict as strict countries come, and she must be legitimate and be documented in order to work in Switzerland, and even if, by chance she was employed, without documents, it would be required in the immediate future.

Fortunately, for me, being law-abiding, this was my “unprecedented” aid to the stranger, whom I woke up a few days later thinking about.

Call me paranoid, but after reflecting on the incidents which led up to our unplanned collision, I concluded that this stranger was an undercover police officer or an informant/investigator for the police.

My unprecedented actions have made me into a suspected criminal, who might be living from undocumented incomes.

© Ian T. Sebàs 2016

Abused By Me

It is said that one had to be young and foolish before becoming old and wise.

I, for one, have learnt that fact and taken heed to it; take for example, my homophobic stance and religious beliefs, when I was a teenager, as I grew older and wiser, my views on such have taken an almost 360-degree turn.

No different than my views, back then, on relationships between a man and a woman, where fights always included physical assaults.

Saying ‘my views’ in the sense of my personal opinion is partially correct, while the other part is based upon facts, considering that I was born into a culture and a society where such assaults were common sightings; men slapped women and in some cases, kicked and punched them like it was nothing and likewise, women did the same to men.

Fights in general, between any combination of sexes were natural to be of ‘no holds barred’ and one was expected to be the victor by use of all and any means necessary.

That was some of my early learning and cultural development, so by the time I had my first girlfriend and heated conversation which led to a fight, the norm occurred, we both fought like we were taught to do. And although females were deemed the weaker sex and the expected one to lose a battle with a man, that was not always the case.

Throughout my youth, I had two or three associations with females which I would classify as ‘relationships’; those lasted anywhere from three years to over a decade, all other associations, to me, were mere flings or spats, as I like to call them.

It means we saw each other, intimately, but it was never intended or expected to be serious, and it never was.

Still, like my earlier relationships, some of these spats had feuding moments, and me not being a saint can admit that on a few occasions, assaulted them, while likewise was assaulted by them; for me, at that time, it was simply a fight, nothing more, nothing less, just the norm. And especially because on no occasions any one ever suffered a black eye, busted lips, broken bones or bloodshed injuries, there was never a need to call the emergency services.

Life went on, as normal, until I moved to the United States, adapting a different culture and learning a new way of living.

One of my first opinion of the USA was that they were a delicate and sensitive nation, considering that a verbal altercation duly warranted the presence of the police, in contrast to where I was coming from, where the police only came in near death situations.

In the late 1980s and early 1990s the words stress and abuse took on a whole new meaning, and living in the US, at that time, pretty much gave me front seat attendance to the classes and lessons of defining Stress and Abuse.

And like wildfire, it spread, and the rest of the world took on claims of Stress and Abuse even in the most minute situations; over the years, claims have similarly added and widened the definition of sexual abuse too.

In recent years, every so often, the news would declare that someone, mostly individuals who are renowned to us, are alleged to have sexually assaulted or physically abused another person or a queue of victims.

These claims are as popular, today, as smart phones are. And when these allegations are aired, I, for one, always think it could be true, while it could be a flat out lie with intentions of malice.

Still, I believe that these allegations should never be ignored, for the sake of genuine victims, and justification should be rendered to all and any human being who has been deprived of human happiness by another human being.

Being an advocate of such, and even with the acknowledgment of my youthful behaviors, which I obviously cannot change, I undoubtedly exempt myself from ever being categorized as an abuser, at any point of my life.

Other than knowing that to be a fact, my defense would be “Ask any of my exes!” and I assure you that they’d say, “Oh, when he was younger, he possessed that expected aggression and violent streak, but abuse, no!”

Let’s define Abuse: ‘to continuously treat in a harmful, injurious, or offensive way’.

The key words here are continuously and harmful. In other words, if it’s on a single occasion, it is by me, defined as an assault and any continuous mode of assault is then defined as abuse.

So, you know that it almost took my breath away, recently, when I came across one of my ex-spat, online, whom I hadn’t seen nor spoken to, in eight or more years, when she accused me of abusing her during the nine or ten-month fling we had almost two decades ago.

Here I was all excited to see her name prompt up on my social network under ‘People You May Know’, after clicking the profile and realizing that she’s married with children, etc., I was more than happy to contact her to extend my congratulations and so on; after all, and as far as I knew, we had what we had and it dissolved respectfully.

But she had a whole other version of what we had, and apparently was abused by me.

I had to object and double-checked, by asking her if she knew who I was or was she mistaking me for someone else; of course I recalled our few months together, she was in her late teens, and I remembered we fought on a few occasions, but what I recalled most, was that we did not live together.

She came and went as she pleases, never by force, threats or beyond her will; furthermore, she never suffered any physical injuries, caused by me, and neither did I, by her. And at no time, existed a situation, where I or her felt the need to call the police.

Flabbergasted while challenging her allegation of abuse, immediately spiralled downward when she insinuated an additional abuse, of a sexual nature, regarding me and her younger sister, who had to be about fifteen years old back then.

I didn’t want to brag, but the moment called for it, in my defense.

Throughout my life and having shortcomings of various privileges, sex was never one, and I was never short on volunteering partners.

Child Abusers, Rapist and Sex Offenders should be crucified, that was a stand instilled in me, culturally, which has not and, I doubt, will ever change.

So, as you can imagine, by this time of corresponding with my ex-spat, I am seriously questioning whether or not she was sane, truly believed what she was saying or willfully trying to be a victim of abuse.

And after a few minutes of feeling annoyed, I reflected back on the real world, where some of my most admired celebrities are being publicly humiliated by similar allegations, and felt, for a moment, their pains, because whether found to be true or false, people, their fans and supporters will always be left with a doubt of whether or not their fame and popularity bought them their justice, and forever, in instances where they are actually upstanding human beings, who made the efforts and led pure lives, it will appear to have been all for nothing.

And on the other hand, where true victims of abuse and sexual assaults, are trying to be heard, women like my ex-spat, makes it so difficult, for them with their false allegations and cries for help.

“En route to adulthood, I genuinely suffered, and will forever be offended by those who falsely claim to have suffered, in any way, merely for attention.”

Ian T. Sebàs © 2016

Confession of an Ex-con

Even though life, for me, started out rough and many of whom were grey and wise could have predicted parts of my future, a big piece of the picture was missing at my sentencing.

Like most children from inner-city neighbourhoods, I was active, mischievous and got myself into all types of trouble. Trouble, that if one wanted to be technical, could be defined as crimes; minor conflicts, major brawls, innocent exchanged of contraband to deliberate sales of them.

Truth be told, some of my activities were done with 100% ignorance and naivety, while others were established to me as being absolutely illegal.

And despite my justification of exercising these acts, like my momma always say, “right is right and wrong is wrong!”

Speaking of my momma, she knew that I was no saint, but she also knew that I was far from being a monster which any innocence person had to be weary of. My relatives and friends all knew that what I did, was what everyone else was doing, and while the city might have defined it as crimes, we defined it as getting by; in other words, surviving.

And as long as no innocent person was being hurt, I always went to sleep with a clear conscience, so clear that every morning I use to pray to God for guidance and protection, and thanked him every night for keeping me safe through another twenty-four.

Don’t get me wrong, sometimes people got hurt, myself included; it’s a doggy-dog world when business is exercised on the black market or better said, outside of the prescribed law.

We were deemed ‘not innocent’ simply because our activities weren’t notarized and registered at City Hall, it couldn’t be, and they wouldn’t have wanted that. If that was to be, the Mayor would have had less reasons to claim aid funds and half of the security forces would have been laid off.

Still, among all that politics or should I say ‘polytricks’, I was arrested, arraigned and sentenced without anyone batting an eye.

I served my time over two decades ago and recently while counselling some youngsters, I surprised them with a confession.

Over twenty years ago, I was deemed one of society’s bottom-feeders, hood-rats or more politely put, a minority or a non-Caucasian, who is a resident of the ghetto.

While living in the ghetto, crime and violence are everyday sightings, and often, at some points, with knowing or not knowing, we all participated in acts which could be defined as crimes.

As I got older, I became more aware of my actions which were defined as crimes. My momma had her suspicions, but my friends were certain of my actions, and last but not least, the local police had information about my activities; their information was correct, but their timing for a bust could not have been any worse.

So after entering my home for a search, they came up empty handed; I was clean, with a cup of Seven-Eleven’s frozen slurpee, being the only thing in my immediate position.

Still, I was given a sentence of ten years, and like I said, no one batted an eye, not even my mom; instead of hearing my plea of innocence, my mother was busy trying to negotiate a deal.

After a while, I too, started to think that I was guilty; after all, I was no saint.

If anything, I was only smart to be one step ahead of the cops, but as you can see, that didn’t help either.

My confession to the boys was a declaration of serving time for a crime that never even took place.

At first, I justified it by all the bad I had done, without consequences, then I blamed high society and its prejudices, I blamed my momma for making me into a minority and I even blamed God for making such an injustice prevailed, and after a very long time, I found the strength to be humble and accept it all.

It’s done and over with.

I now credit the experience for being an eye-opener to one of society’s businesses, which uses its people as commodities for trade; incarceration is a money making business, for some, and not always about innocent nor guilty.

While laws and punishments psychologically prevents more than two-third of us from committing crimes, this strains the business of prison populations, and for this reason, every so often, an innocent person has to be branded ‘Convict’.

My Wife Looked Back

Unlike my wife, I am no stranger to the surroundings of evil people, the ones who add to the definition of words like notorious and inhumane; individuals who have heightened the emotions of jealousy even way beyond the points of where God himself intended for it to be.

See, I entered this world among a class of humans who were deemed from the gutters of society, scums of the earth, menaces, degenerates, criminal minded and plain corrupted.

And as I became more conscious of my surroundings, I realized that most of what was said about us were true, but what wasn’t true was that the negative behaviour which had been exercised and passed down from generations to generations weren’t all by genetic traits, while 50% might have been, the other 50% were mere cultural exercises adapted by ignorant fools who were brainwashed to not think outside of the box; in other words, an ambitious escape could save them, the same way it saved me.

Earlier in my life I was ashamed of my origin, but today I am neither proud nor ashamed; however, I appreciated the wisdom and the knowledge gained from my experiences. I am still yet to grasp its full understanding, but I am happy to have the wisdom and knowledge which enforces that ‘If I do not know where I am running from, then I do not know where I am running to.’

One of the benefits of being from the gutters, is that I can recognize gutters and gutter-rats, who try to pass themselves off as decency, quicker than my wife, whose origin I put at about 220 degrees from mine on the compass.

So it is no surprised that for years, my wife was puzzled about my existence and social behaviour; she met me as a hobo, a loner without family ties.

In my search for peace and happiness, I found Hope, who was a big piece of the Bliss Puzzle which I was on a quest of putting together. But Hope was normal, she did not have the same life as I did growing up, so she had very little, if any, reason at all, to create personal disciplines and life’s guides.

She never understood why I had no connection with my parents nor relatives, and it was even more puzzling to her when she learnt that the disconnection was of my personal choice.

I have always told my wife that after having a ‘wake-up call’ twenty years earlier, I adopted, what I like to call The Discipline of Change, in order to gain a custom-made life for myself; a life directed by my ambitions. The Discipline of Change involves People, Places and Things, and in adopting it, it meant that I had to rid myself of everyone known to me previously, without exceptions.

And even though, all of my relatives weren’t deemed bad people, by me, all had to go. But notably, some were the ideal product of the gutters; hateful, jealous and hypocritical without reasons.

Still, I did not expect my wife of a sheltered upbringing to understand the security gained from my disciplines nor the severity and detriments which can be caused by jealousy from the vultures among us in society, so our lives continued with me constantly watching over her in ways she never realized, even with her eyes open; being her husband and protector.

After I initially met with the immediate family of my wife, I kept a cordial relationship with them for years, but with a safe distance; my distance was so safe that even ten years on, none quite knew anything about me nor ever had the opportunity of a one on one conversation that exceeded half an hour.

My distance created suspicion of having something to hide, but I didn’t care.

The true reason for my distance was simple, some of them, I had seen their kind before, I knew these people and these were the kind of people I was running from.

My wife tried on many occasions, for me, to give them a chance, but I knew better, my wife could not see them the way I saw them and such conversations always ended with me saying, “It would be hypocritical of me to embrace your family after I deliberately divorced mine, especially with the fact that I see similar qualities in them.”

Just like mine, not all showed signs that I should be weary of, but one or two was enough for me to keep my distance.

Still, I would never put a wedge between my wife and her family; after all, she had no personal reason to refrain, so I had no reason to suggest it.

But on my quest, with Hope, life continued to get better, we became a family with one child, established businesses which aided us to travel around the world, living in a few different Countries; Hope and I called it the Good Life.

And her mother, especially, was pleased. But it was around the same time that my wife saw the first signs of jealousy, toward her, emerged from within her family.

And as life changed for my wife, she also had to experience acts of being sabotaged and backstabbed by family members; her naivety had led her to hug, smile and talk to the devil in disguise which resulted in emotional bruises and mental anguishes.

It wasn’t anything that we couldn’t bounce back from, but it was enough for me to encouraged my discipline upon her.

Immediately, I suggested that she should cut all ties, but my wife thought that my suggestion was extreme and contested it. Despite her wounds, she still could not accept that her own siblings possessed what appeared almost like hate for her.

I remember saying to my wife, “Only a fool give their proven enemies second chances” and “If they missed at their first opportunity, it is almost certain that they will succeed on any second chance.”

But my wife refused to accept such talks and said, “It sounds like a declaration of war, they are only my family!” which I replied “Okay!”

I knew that I still had to watch over her, but I also knew that if I am proven right, it was also a risk of us being extremely wounded, I did not know what category of hurt, but I expected a level of severity.

It had been two years since we were in the same locality as her family, and having things somewhat my way, meant our whereabouts had been kept private, needless to say that life’s goodness had not stopped raining on us.

Well, up until the time my wife suggested a visit to her family.

After agreeing to the revisit, my wife contacted and made known to her family that we would be arriving.

Interestingly, a string of unfortunate occurrences followed; first, my wife lost her passport, which we had to spend a fortune to immediately replace, then on the day of traveling I accidentally left my bag containing valuables at the train station, in haste and hope to find the bag still at the station, I left the train and caught a cab, which cost another fortune, the bag was not found. I then directed the taxi driver to hurry and take me home, in attempt to get items which could substitute my lost valuables, and in haste the driver got a ticket for speeding.

I felt bad for the driver and paid for the ticket; by the time I met up back with my wife and son, at the airport, I was exhausted; it was as if we were not supposed to take that trip.

And indeed, the signs were right.

We counted our losses took off and landed.

Despite never being stopped at an airport before, after scanning our passports, this time we were stopped and interrogated. And even though some of the questions were a little out of the norm, my wife and I, at the time, thought it was just airport procedure.

The questions varied from our whereabouts abroad to the local address which we would be staying, the validity of passports and permits for other countries etc.; after about forty-five minutes we were good to go and left asking ourselves, “What was that all about?”

Little did we know that the answer to such a nonchalant question would be arriving the next day.

The next day my wife and I were visited by Police Officers, who claim anonymous information had led them to believe that we were at the address, involved in a variety of crimes, which included child abuse of our son and depriving him of education.

For a moment silence stunned the air as we stared at each other in disbelief of what we were hearing, disbelief maybe, but for me, I saw this coming from a distance.

Our mistakes were obvious:

1. (For the sake of love) I broke my discipline
2. A proven enemy got a second chance (and did not miss)
3. My wife looked back

And even though we were not arrested, we underwent hours of interrogations, which caused us to disclosed details of our private affairs, before the Police Officers ruled it as False Allegation and a Malicious Attempt.

Having to see our child interrogated and questioned about possible inhumane treatment, me, my wife and son were equally injured, but have no other choice than to make it a lesson.

A lesson, I didn’t have to learn twice, but for the sake of Hope, a big part of my Bliss, it was a worthy sacrifice. We licked our wounds to better days, and my wife now have her very own reason, like me, never to look back.

My Eyes Are Closing

Not that I have ever taken my eyesight for granted; after all, it contributes to one of my most appreciated senses, and despite all the ugliness that I have seen over the years, the beauty that my eyes have had the chance to behold, over that same span, are considered remarkable and priceless.

But my eyes are closing, and I cannot do much about it.

I was 35 years old when I accompanied my eyeglass-wearing fiancé to the Optician for a routine check-up; as anticipated, she needed thicker lens and was prescribed. But as we were getting ready to leave, the Optician asked, “What about you, sir?”

I was a little astonished by his question which was obviously directed to me, and asked my very own question in response, “What about me?”

He then pleasantly clarified his question and said, “Care for an eye test, it’s free.”

I was more than confident that my eyes were fine and I would not need any glasses, but with him insisting and my fiancé supporting the suggestion, I eventually hopped into his chair and commenced the test.

And after a few minutes of lens changing and identifying letters and colours, the test was completed.

Again I confidently await the results of what I already knew, but unfortunately, my confidence was shattered with an opposing result. Without realizing, my sight was gradually leaving me and what I thought had been clear views of the world were actually being fuzzed and dulled, all this time, and I have been accepting it as shades of reality.

According to the Optician, it wasn’t a crisis of near blindness or anything of that extremity, but I had to know that my Beautiful Browns which have been working so hard over the years in assisting me to see, were getting old and tired just like I was, whether or not I was ready to accept that fact.

Adjusting to glasses was not so hard, I believed that I took comfort in the fact that it made me appear more intellectual rather than old. So, for the next few years, my face was jazzed up with Designer Glasses; my first pair was Police, then I had Calvin Klein, then it was a pair of Dolce and Gabbana and now I’m onto Bvlgari.

Last month, three years after my last test, I went for another and yes my eyes are closing; my sight has once again decreased by a small percentage.

It reminded me of the movie Ray, and how the Director executed and captured the visual diminishment of Ray’s sight, which must have taken more than a week, but was displayed to viewers within a two-minute frame.

Even though in the film, sight loss was deemed as a medical condition and not one caused by ageing, which is expected in human development, with that thought I realized that my need for glasses also secretly held a beauty of its own.

My Beautiful Browns were gradually dimming in concurrence with my body as I graduated through my living years; it is like a performance of silent art, with a perfect timing of an equal balance to every newly sprouted grey hair, every newly formed wrinkle to my once youthful skin, every loss of nerve and every tiring heartbeat.

My sight is telling me that I am getting older and all the beauty that they have seen and continue to see, along with the unfortunate ugliness of the world, are dimming as a sign and for a reason.

If life is a stage then all of what my eyes have captured were mere performances (like in a theatre) and as my eyes grow tired, one day they will eventually close, like the curtain of a stage, at the end of each performance.

“Our eyes are windows to our soul.”