『 forgiveness breaks the chain of causality because he who forgives you—out of love—takes upon himself the consequences of what you have done. Forgiveness, therefore, always entails a sacrifice.』- Dag Hjalmar Agné Carl Hammarskjold

AS A CHILD, there were many times when I questioned humanity. I watched helplessly, from inside a well-built, cotton furnished—leather sewn seated and silk draped carriage, like a coward, men beating other men of prestige inferior to them. I watched women lose their chastity to rapists and a few weeks later come back to slog the deepest parts of the backstreet; struggling to salvage a remedy to mend their abdominal misery—killing a child that had yet to form a face; let alone a proper body. I watched children who, like me, still had yet to live their own life—but ultimately, didn't possess enough vitality within them to maintain a future. The further each sunrise welcomed a different morning, the more dreary their fate became.

It is a tyrannical era battling land and crown, where war, disease, and death are all but a fleeting moment. Where demons both mortal and fantasy trudge the same path. Where angels wear the mask of an innocent believer of the church and controlled the throne more-so than the emperor that sat on it.

In this time, in this world, In which the motto 'damned if you do, and damned if you don't' fit well with the dog eat dog type of society—I abhorred the weakness of time, status, and naïveté.

I abhor the fact that I could do nothing but sit still and look pretty.

I abhor the fact that I could not relish the tastes of cheap wine and savage chatter.

I abhor the fact that I was the daughter of the man who caused all this pain and suffering.

To the pitiful, gullible, and idiotic me.

I abhor you.

To the karma that strangled my neck, to the weakness that stabbed mercilessly into my mind and body;

I abhor you.

Sincerely, I do.

It is regrettable, my life. Yet, as a human with the same damnable humanity in which this life offered; my heart still selfishly begged for another chance to redeem itself.

The me, whose body hung from atop the precipice; lifeless and cold.

The me, in which died out of resentment and guilt.

I wished.

Like a coward. I wished.

For a life.

For an opportunity.

To carry the sins that battered the crown, beat the people, and rewarded the ruler; I wished.

For a chance to change.

For better. For a forever. And to a better tomorrow.