Sometimes when I look back upon this semester, how so many things have happened.

The pain may be buried, but not gone. For the loss of pain means the loss of reminiscences, the loss of footprints in the soul.

Having prayed my granddad on his 49th day of passing, my stomach flipped when I hear the monk chanting in the familiarly wrenching tones, tapping the wooden fish in timed intervals. Rivers of memory unblocked themselves.

I am strong, but there is a limit to strength.

Beyond the limit, the strength weakens and eventually withers into the background with a protruding snap.

I am about to snap.