A story worth telling

I love stories. Novels of considerable length which narrate the complexities of human relationships and histories. Short stories which provide a short glimpse into our lives. Poems which often contains the deepest emotion of love and despair of the writer. Even a haiku whose poetic presence is fleeting yet leaves us with a lasting impression.

 

Oftentimes, stories are like a deja-vu of my life, reminding me that I am not alone in my trials and victories. I have to acknowledge the fact that at least one other person in the six billion who inhabit this earth went through a similar situation. Much like Noah who discovers the beauty of the rainbow after the flood, stories can bring encouragement and the promise that all will be well.

 

Stories take me into worlds that are different from mine. They leave a mark in my mind and soul, exposing me to dreams and infinite possibilities. These are the stories I love.

 

My life is a story being narrated. As the pages of my life get written, people weave in and out of my story. They, too, have their own pieces to tell. Sometimes, those that they narrated have been lies. Knots and tangles have been created and with such complexity, I try to break free in order to find serenity. It is too late. They are deeply entrenched in your life. The only choice is to make new stories.

 

At the other side of the coin, there are budding stories which I sometimes wish would bind to mine. But most of the time, the choice is beyond my story-telling skills. 

I have to remember also that though I have a choice in writing my own tale, the great Storyteller is the one who sees the big picture. I need to give him my hand so that he can guide me in my writing. Why? For I want to have an epic life worth telling.