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Maybe it is ironic, yes it is, and pathetic at the same time. 

Honestly I have done all things I possibly could do. When they are not resulting something seems beneficial to me, it is mostly–and probably– because those things are not benefiting me or my family at all in long run. Why did I stop? I’m tired. I’m tired of containing this hatred, I’m tired running. I do have bigger responsibility that requires my full sanity: I have a child.

Raising my beautiful baby boy alone is extremely difficult task, making sure he has all he needs, making sure he knows he is loved, safe, and ensuring he has good example on how pursuing life and after life: keeping the faith, doing good deeds, loving others and caring. These require me to be ultra strong and I have to keep learning and fixing my ownself.

In the other hand I also have to consider my own self. I have the full right to be peaceful and happy. These stuffs only bring pains, I have burning rage inside. This is how unhappy I am right now, but I’m trying my best. I stopped all the crazy things I’ve done these past months, I closed the book with only faith to hold on, that Alloh counts every tears and blood I shed. Everyone will entitled only with their own deeds.

See, how full my plate is?

I have enough, I have a child to raise, a battle with my self to find my inner peace, I start from almost zero to regain who I was before, I am trying my best to keep my self alive and sane. So I don’t want to waste my time. Then why I still write about this? Because writing helps. It calms my self, eventho at the end I didn’t post it. Yet if you read this somewhere, it means I, then decided to post it somehow.


1:09 am
25 April 2018

with all of my heart,