They say you can’t end up with your true love, well for most people if not all. True love or not life has a wicked way of tearing us apart from the ones we desire the most, and the crazy part is it used our own hyper-emotional state of heart to make us either excessively annoying or the other person extremely suspicious. On second thought, I guess it is not true love but rather a search for satisfaction in seeking sensual inspiration often in the least attractive, at least least attractive to the general population, ones.

   Romance starts with a spark, that flames up in the depths of our heart and burns like wild fire. The commencement of a relationship is often the best part that never would be attained again in the future. The zenith of the conditional love created between two people is usually the dawn of it, before we get to know each other, before any complication crops, while we were blind and brave. The first step of an adventure is exciting, full of energy and little bumps and falls are easily skipped over and laughed off. The rough waves of a small tide are actually fun when it rocks the boat that we aboard the sea on. The sun is shining and there is not a speck of cloud in the sky.

   But it is human to tire and exhaust. The first few winds become struggle. The next climb gets tougher, seemingly steeper and the blame game starts. The self-righteous soul is in control and it is but a bad master. For the decent few, insults of a few may be well tolerated but then it gets difficult even for the meek to endure all the way and all the time. Rather, it is impossible. And it doesn’t help to finally lose control of subsiding all the pent up anger and frustrations. Insult starts to fly with the wild wind, multi-directional and slapping across faces in the most indecent manner. Love, is not love at all, considering the way when such claim is easily clouded by anger, frustration, hurt, pride, ego, and the list goes on. A storm is inevitable, and the storm did come.

   There is no say of civilization under the horrendous storm. All hands on deck, but every touchdown has a feedback that made it seem earlier moments look better. Fights after fights, each fight brewing more hurt and pain, each more hideous than the preceding ones. There is no way the ship can be of any help in such a storm, and so we abandon ship. But the storm does not easily go away, and every break-up does not immediately put an end to all the misery. The hurt goes on, as the storm kept on thrashing the sea, like it is about to disembowel it, if it should have any bowel that is. The pain lingers like the contractions of an expecting mother, it aches, it subsides, it aches again, each contraction goes harder, each pain hurts more. Melancholy drives you insane, like you might just lose your mind, and sometimes you do. Actions untold of, reasons uncalled for, stupid deeds with no explanation at all, more embarrassing moments, more hurt.

   It is not for the heart to thrive in a storm or to be strikened by hurt all the time, it tires out. The fight for something thought of value dies if it does not give a favorable outcome. You can’t win all fights, very true; so sometimes the heart got to lose. There comes a time when everything that has been held dear is just a hopeless nothing, a useless, formless void that does not stand for anything. No more screams, no more cries, no more tries, just silence. All you want to do is sit quietly all by yourself and void yourself of anything that might even in the slightest manner creep into your thoughts. You feel drained, exhausted and completely empty. There is no good nor bad that is left in you. No news can strike you, there is no bad news that’s too bad, there is no good news that’s exciting. Anything and everything is a ‘whatever’.

   In a way, nothing can hurt you anymore. The storm has died out, and the sea is as clear as ever. The clouds have parted and the sky is clearer than the sea that reflected it. Numbed, nothing can hurt you anymore because you really don’t care and it doesn’t really matter. What happen or will happen is not going to change anything nor is it going to bring anyone back. Indifferent, nothing can get your attention. The world is just a fancy materialization of dreams that does not really come true, just another false alarm, trickery and all lies. And with time, gentle breeze and soft tide, you just sail along and mindlessly aboard any ship that would pick you up.

   The spark that became a wild fire dimmed down to that of a lighthouse, from lighthouse to a flaming torch, from torch to a candle. Candle flame flickers down to that of a matchstick, to ember and to darkness. A cold hard darkness that once used to be a wonderful glow of warmth and life, a
forest fire, a lighthouse.

   I think I almost got the point why we can’t settle down with our true love. We get emotional, we get jealous, we get fussy and the list goes on. It is stressful, we hurt too much, like we are in a storm. But when we lose hope and the storm subsides, when nothing can hurt because we are numb, when nothing can attract us because we are not interested, that is when we are finally ready to settle down, our serenity.

12 May 2013


Your opinion, My decision


   Man is a social animal. No man is an island. We live in a close-knit society sharing common interests like language, culture, religion, history, tradition, so on and so forth. Proficient in different talents and trades, we are in a way forced to depend on each other; not everyone is a farmer, nor for that matter everyone a doctor, or a mason, or a tailor; we depend on each other according to our own needs. Probably, once a basic need to live together a very long time ago has led to the evolution of social administration, justice system and, with ever increasing community size, control system. We now have courts, police, politics and the list goes on.

   Growing up in a community like ours where the goodness of man is still cherished and voluntary organisations work on a full non-credit basis for the welfare of the community; for instance, we take time to mourn the dead according to a proper ceremonial burial in line with tradition. Much of the orthodoxy is still active, and this shapes the up-growth of generations that followed the previous who also went through the same discipline, even though with some changes for the newer generation to adjust optimally with the ever advancing world. This is not something new, it was only tradition to have ‘zawlbuk’ which could be considered a disciplinary centre, occupational academy, youth club, administrative centre, and anything else it would have stood for. The modern Mizo Community poorly improvise in continuing tradition to certain accuracy by running non-government organisations like YMA for youths, MHIP for women, MUP for folks to name a few.

   The manner in which we maintain the accuracy of the term ‘close-knit’ was what struck me when I had to finally leave home to attend college in a neighbouring state. I realized, it was not even a quarter of what it was like out here that I had thought the terminology would represent. The revelation occurred to me, when on one of my vacations at home that my dad told me, “Be careful, we hear of your whereabouts before even your own roommate get to know it”. It only meant people were quite serious in gossiping about others’ lives more than we ourselves could ever be interested. The improved communication system, where it is now possible to have a live conversation with someone on the opposite side of the globe did not help at all; rather it is like a super fast catalyst. Talking about global village, felt more like global next-door-neighbourhood!

   It is a silent struggle to grow up in a community like ours where everyone has his or her opinion and thinks that it is the best. Family upbringing sets for us a standard, then comes the school or workplace, the church, then society, peer pressure, gender-wise expectations both to the same and opposite sex, and some other groups and mini-groups we get attached to. In our effort to blend in and get accepted in all of them, which often gives us contrasting standards, it is very easy to lose our true self and get lost in the desires and expectations of other people. Identity crisis comes not as a surprise but rather with a high probability. Starting from our way of dressing and going up all the way to the preferences and arguments of others eats up our life; dictating our code of conduct, strangles our original identity and shapes us into something else. We become puppet to the ways of whoever is appointed leader, who himself is no more than a puppet too. We do not think on our own anymore, we do not know what we really want, we become yes-yes to what others agree to and a no-no to whatever they do not.

   We have become so engrossed in what others think, and people think, too often and too shamelessly than they ought to be given credit for. It is necessary that we take opinions, but it is often best, we keep it at that, just opinions. It has become routine and that to a sickening one when every time dad gives me counsel ‘based’ on how others would think, about reputation which again is excessively approval dependent. Who are people anyway, to approve rather than accept?  They do not even sweat a single drop for you while you might barely live to struggle everyday just to survive. You may call it a ‘social’ thing, but it is starting to marginalize towards ‘abuse’, yes abuse, abnormal usage of one’s positional and opinionated advantage to shape the life and cause of other people to our own interest.

   The saddest part is we still fuss over their opinions and pitifully wait for their approval. Earlier I too was not free of such trivia either. Born and brought up in a pastoral family where service to people and humility is of utmost care, too often we have been moulded to reshape into the interest of the congregation partly in support of dad’s ministry. It was but heartbreaking to see my sister, at a young age, cry when mom with no second thoughts accused her guilty over some gossip a certain thin-lips seem to have created. Yes, ours is also a community where gossip surprisingly and sadly holds a high place. I daresay I have had my fair share of gossip, on the receiving end, struggling at times in the many relationships I have had and ending up with a bad break-up. Growing up was more like slowly losing myself every day. From what dad wants, to what ‘that-lady-I-do-not-even-know’ might think, never the ‘what-I-like’ but always that ‘what-would-others-think’. We all go through this, only most of us do not even know we are becoming others and not ourselves. There is no satisfaction, no true happiness, because it is not what ‘we’ like but what ‘they’ like.

   Accusation is a weapon we often are too eager to put ourselves vulnerable to. Mockery is what usually gets us down. We are so ready to justify ourselves with useless explanations that seldom comes out right. We lack the courage of ‘So what? It is not your best concern’ gut, rather we end up a stammering dolt making ourselves look a complete fool. People say this, people say that, and the next moment we are complete goners and we lose our sanity. In a social family, yes, opinions are of high value, but they still are just opinions. After all, no one who gives their trivial opinions or tries to dictate others is going to pay for a single grain of cereal to feed you.

   People talk a lot, and more often they judge too much. Many times we try to live by the approval of others, and this sickens me. I’d say one thing, let them believe what they like; because what others think about me is one, what I know of me is another; your opinion, my decision.

3am 15 May 2013




  Nineteen… NINETEEN! It keeps on ringing in my head, NINETEEN! NINETEEN! And I just can’t think straight anymore. My mind keeps on going in circles, round and round to the times that had been wild and passionate, stupid in its entire meaning, deep and meaningless; yet it meant everything to me, still does. Such silly date that comes twelve times a year, and the same old silly me that’s gonna be crazy for the next twelve times in the year to come; nineteen, nineteen. Let me at least do justice to this day and jot down something, for it is special, has been, always will be.

   Sleepless nights during exam time, not something new to me, no surprise there; and as I lay awake, only hours between the dawn that’s waiting with the professors to drill me in the hospital I couldn’t help recalling how I spent the recent week that passed me by. First thing I noticed a hungry, growling tummy. Yes, I have one insatiable stomach that says “Feed me! Feed me!” even after a feast of a dinner. Then my studies took over. I have wasted every countable second, in the last moment flipped my humungous books in frenzy, tried to shove everything in at one go till I felt dizzy with too much knowledge, and then got mixed up so bad that I don’t know what’s head or tail anymore!

   I never forget to pray during exam time, I doubt no one will. Every religion, every ethnic; me being a Christian almost find it surprising to see a Hindu girl whispering prayer with the question paper sandwiched between folded hands on her table in the exam hall. I had to do a double reminder that everyone prays, not only Christians. But twenty years of the same old ordeal starts to get into my head: I never missed a single prayer during exams, but i never did a single prayer out of it. That’s when I start to think, my efforts are bare minimum and here I am, begging on bended knees for help I wouldn’t even toil for. Where’s the grace in that? I had had more than enough time and resources, to do my part, and also the health and opportunity to give my best. But what I just displayed is an exact opposite of effort.

   That’s when I started to think that even God would not be eager to help such sloth, matter of fact He’d despise it; all the more reason to because I happen to live so badly. Yes, I couldn’t have any complains at all and wouldn’t even dare to because I haven’t played my part, I haven’t done my homework. So there even was a time when I just waved it off saying “God, I know how much I deserve, may Your will be done”, and God willing or not I do not know, that year I failed like the failure I was. It was still a bad encounter though, with all the blames and rebukes from a well-mouthed guardian.

   But one night, or should I put it as one fateful night, undergoing the same old pre-exam insomniac situation, something new came into my mind. If someone happen to pass me by, could be anyone out of the blue, asks for my help; and if it is within my power and ability to help that person, would I do it? And my mind starts to race back to different encounters at varying times in the past. Be it a complete stranger, someone I barely knew, someone I’ve known from somewhere, someone closer, someone very close, someone I dislike, even my enemy (provided I have one, though of which I currently cannot recall any); if anyone at all comes to me, begging for help, would I?

   And my answer was, and still is: Yes! I definitely would! In the past, I had too! It doesn’t matter if that person is useful or useless to me, doesn’t matter if he/she is good or bad, doesn’t matter if close or distant, it doesn’t matter be it profitable or not, I surely would help, as have I did.

   Then it strikes me, if I, a mere human being, lesser than most human being, have a heart to help someone irrespective of the situation or of the relationship I have with the person in need and well within my power and ability; God, the Almighty, the Omnipotent, the maker of heaven and earth, the Counsellor, the Merciful, the Wonderful, the King of kings, the Lord of lords, the Alpha and Omega would sure have not just a heart but the complete compassion and the perfect love to help if only I should ask, regardless of any condition and irrespective of any situation. If I, the least of all my fellowmen have a heart to respond to a plea, how much more would my Father to whatever I need ask of Him?

19 December 2013





Monday 22 April 2013 12:35AM

I was a child, pious and free
Safe from chaos this world could be
Alive and living
A free human being
Counted my days, gleaming with glee. 

I am a soldier, life is war
Sword and shield, burns, bruises and scars
Alive but barely
Alone and lonely
Clinging barely to life so dear. 

I will be a man, strong and bold
Survive I will, both fire and sword
Amazed you will be
At what I shall be
Come life, come chaos, heed my word.




1:55 AM Sunday, April 21, 2013

A word with the silence isn’t too bad
Alone on the stairs I don’t give a care
A day on my own with ease I can bare
But these memories they do make me sad

   I can ease through a day just being on my own, in fact most times I prefer to stay alone; just letting myself loose on random thoughts and daydreams without any external disturbance can be blissful at times. When the world grows too murky with worries I no longer know the answer to, it is such quiet moments that would help me recollect myself back when I insidiously had lost myself piece by piece, fragment by fragment to the troubles of the human ways. Much like the quiet after the storm, or was that the calm after the storm? Anyway, whatever the popular phrase for it may be, it holds for the same reason: a complete, almost selfish, much needed time all to oneself. That critical moment when we take the time to strip down, get naked, and get vulnerable just for the sake of recollecting and rebuilding ourselves and thus perhaps brace for the upcoming storm. So, is it the calm before the storm now? It doesn’t matter; I guess we all need such times, just to ourselves, nothing more.

   Home is familiar enough to me, rather too familiar at times. The incredible flight of stairs to the top floor where an extension is made on the roof to accommodate my family, the quietness and privacy offered by the stairs at night, the darkness without lights, that familiar smell of night air mixed with that of fuel from vehicles which frequent the road on the side of which our building was built, that particular spot on the stairs where I then sat smoking cigarettes which now I do alone, that smelly spot near the black cylindrical water reservoir we call syntax, smelly because the outlet of the septic tank chimney opened so nearby, where a certain first kiss was made, that peculiar feeling when after church service at night the flight of stairs bestows, that nagging feeling while locking up the gate especially late at night, and that useless deed of looking down upon the metalled road just before I signed off for the night.

   I have been to quite a lot of places and held a lot of memories both good and bad. I have had the burden of needing to rid myself of the attachments to some places I’d spent a little longer than the others. The catch was to move on, not just a mental effort but a simultaneous physical distancing that exponentially assisted me in continuing to live without having to forget but to remember without having to paralyze life in my new home, and the acceptance without grudge of the necessity of the new beginning. And here is a new challenge, to move on while submerged in real, touchable, visible, perceptible, and smellable, in all sense sense-able evidence of the life that I am in dire need to release myself from and yet with a powerful illusion that made me feel as if it is agonizing to do so.

   Such is the nature of these memories, too good to just let it slip from my grasp, too bad to let it haunt my life that deserves something or rather someone a whole lot better. At times the heart tries to relish in the good, no, specks of could-be-better times which now seemed like specks of stars on a rather cloudy night sky that twinkles in and out of the heart which is now muddled with anger, frustration, agony, regret and coldness from lost hope, and it twinkles out of sight no matter how hard you strained your sensitive heart to perceive the lights. At times the mind amuses over the delusive nature of the heart that remembers which is much desired to be forgotten and forgets that which is much desired to be held on to, memories.



Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Lecherous is what defines you
Entrapped in your own facade
Tricked me in your world so blue
Adulterer, that’s you, retard!

Try as you may mine heart to win
Might as well you dream of a chance
Attracted I cannot, for you I despise.

Mine heart reached out, could you be the one?
Allowing myself that slip of weakness
Laid down my heart, watched you for a while
Alas you are, nothing but cheap wine.

Found you in life, in hope, in love
Kissed you but gently, ever was I caring
Ashamed but I am, for ever knowing you.

Resentful I am, for Enchanted I was
Unaware I was, Believed you I did
Extenuate you better not, your vile affairs
Never would I fall for such a harlot again.

Kindness and comfort, for me you displayed
In you I found, both sense and sensuality
My biggest mistake, to pushed you away
Angry you may, blame you I wouldn’t.

Justified I am, against your undoing
Engulfed I was, in your fake love
Redemption I fought, Rejoice I did not
You are but a fraud, wretched and rotten.

The wrong end of a burning cigarette



   Lighting a cigarette means taking it on your lips, let the free end burn with fire and suck on it so that it catches fire. While at the other end you suck and inhale the pleasures of nicotine, it is always at the expense of burning the free end to ashes. The more ‘puffs’ you take, the more tobacco you burn, the shorter the cigarette goes; until it is all burned up. You usually get satisfaction of smoking after you burn the whole length of the cigarette.

   Now, at the right end of the cigarette is the where you get bliss; but if you’re at the wrong end, you end up with blisters.

   Sometimes in life, it feels like we’re at the wrong end of the burning cigarette. All the good things you have planned for disappeared just like that, all the bad things you have feared for just keep on coming, when you think things can’t get any much worse, it just keep on getting worse until you are so confused that you can’t even figure out the worst one among them! Everything just turned to ashes, just like at the burning end of a cigarette.

   All these shall pass, until then; I’d just hung on tight to whatever I’m holding and let the rain pour down on me. Perhaps someone might come up with an extra large umbrella. Even if not, I’m sure the dark clouds will quickly run dry, and the sun will shine again.

Thus wed thee



Thursday, January 24, 2013

(dedicated to Mr. Lalthantluanga, written on the eve of one of the most important moment of his life, upon which fate be generous, days be kind and God forbid any sense of misfortune befall him)

Then the Lord God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone;
I will make him a helper as his partner.”

   Man is a social animal. No one can live without the other; we all need each other in one way or the other, some way or the other. We start our life with family to support us, then we have friends, and then some intimate ones, finally ending up with a partner for life, and we go right back to where we started, family; the fated circle of life.

   What is love? Everybody has his own answer. While for some a blossoming garden, for others it has spelled doom for more valiant men and lovely, capable women. It is not just a feeling; it is that treasure, that elixir, that manna, the life force of a relationship that holds every other emotional force in its power. To accept without exception, to hope without expect; to endure without complaining, to trust without doubt; to reason but never to judge, and to hold each other with no more second thoughts.

   There is only so much that one can say from this side of the boat, only so much that second degree voices can make. Thus I remind myself not to judge but to be compassionate, not sneer but to smile, not to wound but to heal, if things should turn out the least way expected.

   Each one of us is the sum total of every moment we’ve ever experienced, with all the people we’ve ever known. And it’s these moments that become our history, like our own personal greatest hits of memories that we play and replay in our minds over and over again. These moments of impact, these flashes of high intensity, of total physical, mental, and every other kind of love; these moments of impact define who we are.

   To help him love his life, to always hold him with tenderness, to have the patience that love demands, to speak when words are needed and to share the silence when they’re not; to agree, to disagree; to live within the warmth of his heart and always call it home.

   To love her in all her forms, to never forget that this is a once in a lifetime love, to always know in the deepest part of his soul that no matter what challenge might carry them apart, they’ll always find a way back to each other.

   Thus wed thee.

Letter to you



   “If only you could be here, things wouldn’t be as bad as they seem to be. I’d give almost anything for you to be alive today. Now all that’s left is this memory of you, and visit where they lay you, six feet under.”

   Why does the star shine in contradiction to the beauty you emit here when you were with us? Why were those short memories you left felt like relics that just went beyond my ability to excavate from my own lonely mind? When did you ever stop shining? What trouble befell you that you gave way to such horrible retreat? It’s not like you, to walk away in the middle of your absolutely beautiful song!

   I remember the time you and dad were cooking. When the time for supper came, we all had a good laugh as you opened the rice cooker to rice all brown from being burned which turns out that you forgot to pour water before closing the lid to cook. I could recall only a meager amount of memory I’d known you spent with us, and I treasure them as best as I could. Secretly smoking out of either fear of or respect towards dad, which one I did not know, was one funny memory which I, to my surprise, happened to repeat the very same deed.

   It was blissful to hear you active in church after left us. But a couple of years later, it was more than shocking to hear you gave in to intoxicating drinks. I was young back then, and I didn’t understand much of it. So I simply shook the shock away into thinking that it’d be only a temporary phase in your struggles and that you’d be better soon. Now I know I was terribly wrong!

   Life has its demands and toils, I continue to spend most of my days busy with school and continue with college without a single year to break. You’d come to mind once in a while, and I couldn’t wait to finish my studies. The feeling rocketed when I one day, during a vacation in my final year, asked my mom about you and she said the same sad thing which I ever so dread. That was when I made up my mind that possibly with the profession and the skills I require I’d take care of you.

   And one day, after having finished all my college duties, flunked in two papers and waiting for the time I could give my exams again to clear the papers, I asked mom again, and I felt as though my breath itself was ready to leave me. News so old, yet so new, yet so old, yet so shocking! I just kept everything to myself and quietly observed the mental clash between what I heard, what I wished for, and the undeniable truth; death. Mom said it happened a long time ago, that made it even worse.

   I was having this dream, this plan, that even in your worst condition I’d be there as soon as I was capable. Death was never an option; never was, never is and never will be! And I didn’t even know it happened! The funny part that I was mentally bracing myself to the condition I’d see you in was hilarious as you already died, isn’t funny at all! And just to make it worse, you came to me in a dream and told me of your struggles. That took my thoughts away for weeks, and nothing makes it better ‘cause it’s useless information now.

   And every time I get a little lonely, every time I get a little sad, I’d think of you and I’d somehow comfort myself. I’d like to think that you’re now watching me as I stand under the stars on a cold winter night, when the sky is clear and the stars are bright, I’d think of you. And as I’d write this letter to you, I don’t know where to send it ‘cause it’ll just get lost in the blues, as there is no address in the stars.

   The other day parents of a so-called friend of mine told me I looked just like you. That’s when I smiled my best smile and lit up instantly ‘cause the only image of you I recalled was that of your perfect smiling face. I guess I could now try to live my best as having a same name and a same-looking face; I might just be able to live in your stead and do all the good deeds you might have planned to.




I survived a dreadful accident…

   Actually it wasn’t as ‘dreadful’ as it may sound. Just a single gave-away of my already weakened ankle and a full flight down the marble staircase, a left-sided slide and three very obvious swellings that led me to cry out in agony. But I have never been more grateful of such a painful encounter as I am to this one.

   I must have made quite a stumbling thudding noise that my siblings sharpened their ears to it, and didn’t waste a second when they heard me cry out in pain. Before I can even start to think thoroughly about what happened and how am I to deal with it I was crowded by an eminently yet contrastingly comforting figures I have ever unexpectedly yet undeniably true to have undoubtedly come to my rescue: my two sisters and my little brother.

   Sure I have had encountered a more life-threatening accident before, and I had a bigger crowd then, but not this type of comfort. Rather, far from it. My little brother, who by age is far younger but in no way is anymore ‘little’ now that he’s grown physically bigger, held me up from my dreadful position at the bottom of the stairs. My two sisters in awe fear and freak rambled for aid, lit up the staircase and actually pulled a humor out of my pathetic fall and turned the whole event into a moment of levity. I simply gritted my teeth and managed a laugh too; after all, it was all too funny in a way.

The high speed collision gave a new sense of sight to me…

   It wasn’t a ‘high’ speed even though it felt like it occurred in a flash, and there wasn’t any real collision either, it was just me. But it really did give me a new sense of sight!

   I have always loved my sisters and brother more than anything in this world. Family is dear to me. And I have always been top dog in the family, so everything was just a give-give for me. But accidents such as this, that placed me for a moment there in the position of ‘fragile’ and ‘in need’ opened my eyes to the side of the family that never caught my attention.

   My little brother has grown stronger than ever to lift me up when I cannot move and support me to my now limping feet, is now no longer ‘little’. My sisters have been enabled to act upon the need of the hour with a gift of humor to lessen the pain. And as I sat there on my bed, my sister gone out to tend to her part time job; I just sat there waiting, longing for her to come and wrap up my sprained ankle.

   I can’t express it enough, and I’m running out of vocabulary, poor as mine is, to express that feeling, that emotion which ran through my senses as my beloved siblings gathered around to pick up a dreadful fallen me from the floor. I tell you, I have never felt love so great and pleasant as that moment gave me. It truly is pure love that empowers the invisible cords that bind siblings together.

   Everyone here in this world, in our search for love that’s worth giving up everything, we dealt with love of friends, of romantic relationships: boyfriends and girlfriends, colleagues and so many others. And in my own experiences and encounters, I have concluded that everyone else is just a selfish version of who they want to be; and like a song said, the rest of us are just like ‘northern stars’, insignificant and used.

   Love that runs in a family, among blood siblings, that cared, that sacrificed, that weeps, and that rebukes yet loves all the more. I guess these accidents that happen, are actually safety valves for the human soul, that we may not lose our ways and to help remind us of true love that was and has always been there right in front of us.