I wrote about how someone could be pushed to the edge of sanity from the very existence of life.
I think I knew.
Some run away from existence by turning to alcohol, drugs, into a virtual temporal plane where life could be sculptured to one's fancy.
I then recollected about that period of mine when slumber was the only solace, the only form of escapism from the harsh reality of living, even if only, only for a while.
While I was walking on the edge, I refused to surrender. The journey was mine and mine alone; only I can choose where I want to go, and no one, nothing should stop me.
Whatever doesn't kill us only makes us stronger.
(The entry has since been lost due to some silly activesync problem. No matter, anyway)
(It was a really really really tiring windsurfing session; my palms are numb liao)