A thin line in peace.

yucong - chicago, Illinois
Entered on March 10, 2009
Age Group: Under 18
Themes: peace

What I believe in is peace. Peace a permeable of line that does not separate two countries from war, but a thin line of resistance strengthened by the fallacies of history. A resistance made of minds linked in a collision of feelings, a unity of fear, an anger of loss, the pain of an empty void in our hearts.

There is no greater distrust of thoughts that tangle myself from the unknown. What I fear is not in terms what another man fears. In context however, we are both afraid; things unknown to the silent thoughts of another mind. Likewise I harbor a deep hidden fear in the fate of chance that brings those unfair winds that haunt a parent’s son, a sister’s brother, a brother’s brother. This fear I feel, is but a collective of a whole, that all man and woman should fear, and in it that unity is unfathomable in which it can drive us to our course.

What I believe in is conflict. Without conflict there is no understanding of each other, through our fights we know our differences. Be it hate or enlightenment; once conflict is in ensued I am reassure that I am me, and he is different than me, for his anger is my anger. A stand-off that conflicts with myself, and I am at a loss, for I am not truly angry at him. I am angry with which we can no longer conflict our thoughts in commitments through words. He has reached a point in which words can not salve the festering wound of annoyance. Now only meetings of forced chance brings two kinds of a half together to do battle with no more meaning, than the fact that we are both angry. And thus we are lost.

I believe only through the bitterness of the darker nights can people of different natures gather, huddle, and survive the chills. I need not speak to understand the cold. I need not talk about useless ideology to understand the warmth the person next to me gives. These are things that are felt, things that should be known through instinct and not by frigid night, where boundaries of morals, guided by tradition, leave one man cold alone and isolated as heart is void of contempt.