Life works in mysterious ways. Most of us love to think that we're in control of our lives. But paraphrasing Henley's (he's a poet) Invictus, are we really masters of our fate and the captains of our soul? Or is there an invisible hand that make certain things happen when those certain things are meant to happen? The Realist that tries making things happen or The Dreamer that let life unfolds at its own pace?
I can only imagine how frustrating it must've felt deep down talking to someone like me - frustrating like when a Dreamer tells a Realist to be hopeful and a Realist tells a Dreamer that things happen when we make them happen. My humblest apologies. Some (or most) times, I can be one so full of himself too - which was why the world revolves around me like it used to around you. I also like to pretend that I've got the gift to see meanings behind words, questions and one's actions despite the fact that most of the time, these "hidden meanings" never existed. Some times though, they do. And when they do, one who is so full of himself will smile. Just smile. If smiles could light the whole night sky, he'll flap his wings and fly. Just fly.
Life works in mysterious ways. Very very mysterious ways. Sometimes, in ways way too mysterious even for someone like me.
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