The Flight of the Rocketman

I hide my pain like the rest of them/ That's why I'm always laughing/ I'm troubled, I'm brilliant and miserable too -- Unwind, by Pink (written by Pink and Tim Armstrong)

I found a beautiful song and downloaded it and it is called Carrier of a Secret by Sissel. Beautiful, beautiful song. The lead singer's voice is so ethereal. It just floats up there. It's so beautiful. And I love the sound of an acoustic guitar set to atmospheric keyboards. I find it classy.

Yesterday was just too weird for me. After a whole day of heaped up disappointments, I bring over my two friends home and in the middle of everything, I get a call. Someone out there has been out of touch has been able to catch me in the middle of my spitfire life. I dropped everything and we just talked. Somebody out there who barely knows me is willing to just be there and listen. At least that's how it felt like. How... I don't know... strange?

Then, when one of my friends fell asleep, I ended up reaching out and touching someone's heart. It's the usual thing with me; I make it so comfortable and easy to let someone just open up things. I am the carrier of many secrets. For some unexplainable reason, people are not afraid to confide in me. They trust me.

And a good friend of mine last week was able to make me realise that all pain that is felt is the same, really. No matter what the cause of the pain, everyone feels it at the same intensity. You put a person who has just lost his cell phone with all the numbers and messages that were kept there with a woman who's husband of 35 years has died, they both feel the pain at the same strength, the same intensity. Though one person has, according to reasoning, more reason to lash out, enter despair, go insane; we forget that pain is felt in the same intensity. There is no degree to pain. It is just felt. And so many acts of anger and bitterness and loss, no matter what reason, will be done.

This really affected me. I have always felt like there are few people in this world who can match up to my pain. With this new frame of mind, everybody matches up to my suffering. The causes are different, the intensity is felt at the same strength. I am no different from anybody else.

And my friend, the life he has led. It makes me want to cry. It makes me want to cry at the suffering he has led. It makes me want to cry at my ungratefulness. It makes me want to cry because other people have suffered at the hands of others and I suffer at my own decisions, my own doing. It is as if I make myself incapable of happiness.

At one point, I have to start asking: what is it that I am truly afraid of?

And all of a sudden, someone put a comment on my blog. There are heroes still in this world. They just don't look like what we expect them to be, or something like that, I'm paraphrasing. And I don't recognise the name or the e-mail address. A stranger, indirectly (and maybe with different intentions) has made me believe in hope again.

And it is true, there are still heroes. They're just in disguise and they look differently from how we picture them to be. No more shiny armour and swords by their sides. No more chargers, no more plumes of exotic feathers on their helms. No capes, no shields, no pages. People still do things for others, totally selfless things.

But isn't it sad that they are no longer recognizable? As if they must go into hiding? Isn't it sad that nobody can just take a vow, an allegiance to some higher power - be it a king or God or a flag, like before? Soldiers don't seem to be cut from the same mold. Patriotism is one thing, but the full intention to want to do good before all, it's something that is not so blatant or obvious. And that saddens me.

But I am glad that, yes, there are still heroes, albeit small. In this day and age, we must learn to really look. We have to learn to find things in tiny spaces, in cracks and crevices. We must learn to see in the dark. It is all there waiting for us. Everything we ever hoped to have. We just have to start learning how to see again.

And in that little bit of wisdom, if I may call it so, there is hope, lingering, not shivering in the cold, but waiting patiently as hope always does. It's stronger than any force in the world. It has been here since man was able to believe. And it will come out.

I didn't want to leave this year behind with such dark thoughts. From the movie A Knight's Tale, the lady blacksmith (I forget the actress and the character's names) says to end all letters with hope. I have little, right now. But even a little hope goes a long, long way.