“Get out there! It’s time for your speech!” “Shit!! What do I say?” Ian in the body of famous philosopher and philanthropist Edwin McGregor stepped on stage and squinted in the bright light as thousands of people clapped, their echos filling the space with noise. Edwin began to sweat, and just started talking. “Hello, um…” he began, and pushed his nerves to the side and recited the gist of something an old friend had told him long ago. “I think, too often, we get caught up in the currents of life , and the past currents, and try to get a peek of what’s to come. But many forget to enjoy the sensation of the cool water against our skin, and be grateful for the suns warmth and light that created the atmosphere for you to relax in. Observe the things around you, every little detail. When we focus on other things that is not in the here and now, that is not truly living. Only by being aware of what is in front of you can you be fully alive.”

There was always a locked door in grandmas house that nobody ever entered. At least not until now…when the door appears to be wide open. Well that’s strange. Syd thought, moving closer to the partially lit doorway. His grandma had passed away the day before, as neighbors began to notice the never to be read newspapers piling up on the front step. A long forgotten memory of Syd from childhood surfaced in his mind at that particular moment, of him wandering in the same place where he stood now, looking at the then locked door. His grandmother was babysitting him and his cousin Ian, who had brought over their pets-a couple of hermit crabs. One of the crabs had pinched Syd on his palm, and as he tried to shake the thing off, it finally let go as it clattered onto the floor, it’s pretty coat of purple on its shell sliding across the wood and landing softly on the carpet. His hand had started to bleed, so Syd went upstairs in search of his grandmother. He looked in her room, and then the bathroom inside of her bedroom and found nothing, then retreated back to the hallway, passing her dark wooden Egyptian figurines. He went and tried the door, which was locked shut. However, when Syd’s pink skin had touched the doorknob, he immediately got chills, and a feeling of wrongness entered his body. He felt faint, and called for his grandmother again. She appeared a few seconds later, having been in the attic. When she saw him near the door she almost scolded him, and told him to never go in it, for it had never been finished being built, and was full of danger for little boys like himself. She had gotten him a bandage and he joined his cousin Ian and the hermit crabs once more. The hermit crab that had pinched him died a week later, and his grandmother seven years after that. Now Syd was alone, with nothing separating him from the door. He walked near it tentatively, and feelings of adrenaline coursed through his body. His fingers began to tingle, and he looked through the door to see nothing but blackness, he stepped in it, looking for a light, and somehow the opened door behind him was gone, and he there was nothing but black. He took a step forward but realized there was no ground, and he was stepping into nothing, like he had walked into a dream. Syd became the darkness. Faded hues of green and orange twirled softly around him. And then, suddenly, everything was white.

It was the worst kind of day to be lost and alone on a mountain. Jared knew by the shape of the clouds that it would be a snowstorm. Jared was not having the best month of his life. Earlier in the day, his mother had thrown him out of the house when, in a fit of mania, he had thrown his shoe at the top of the wall near the front door, which created a decent sized indentation. Oops. He drove up to his favorite hiking spot in the middle of winter and set out. It’ll be good exercise, he had thought, and a way to clear his head. He had started walking and kept on walking until he realized he had never been out this far, and he had neglected on turning at his usual turn, which left him stranded, with no phone, at the beginning of a snow storm in the middle of the mountains. If I had my phone I’d call the sherif. Shit, I hope I don’t die out here. The weather was not a deathly cold, but he knew long term exposure would not be a pleasant experience, and could even turn into a dangerous situation. He started heading back the way he had come, but the more he walked the less sure of the way he was. He started to enter a panicked state as he saw some trees had been cut down. I don’t even remember coming across this the first time…where am I? After some more walking, he had no clue where he was, but he spotted a large green house on the left side of him near the trail. Should I keep going? Or perhaps it would be a good idea to ask if they have a phone. What if it’s a robber, or rapist? Jared fretted. I’ll just have to risk it, he thought, clutching his keys tighter against him. At least he had pepper spray attached to it. He knocked on on the door using a clunking metal piece attached to it. He waited, and nothing. He tried again. Then, the door swung open and an irritated “What?” greeted the worried man. It was a girl, in her early twenties. She had no makeup, and her forehead was pulled together in a tight scowl. “Let me guess. You’re lost.”

My dear. This letter is for you. I know we’ve been fighting lately. Or at least I’ve been fighting you. I know I’m a lot to deal with, so I wanted to thank you, for putting up with me all these years. I want your life to be easier. I know I’m a burden, even though you would never say, bless your heart Rebecca. I know you’ll find someone else more deserving someday. But I wanted to write this to make it absolutely clear. What you’ve discovered, what I will soon become, is not your fault. Death is an idea I’ve played with many times. I tried to kill myself when I was six, remember? I figured life was worth living, until I got that cancer. Then I figured…what better way to go out than on my own terms? Even if it would be faster. I wanted to write this to tell you. I love you, and only you. I know we’ve had our ups and downs but please don’t think of that now. Remember me, remember what we did under that bridge? Remember those parks I took you? Remember when we were kids? You are the love of my life, and always will be. I’m so glad to have met you again. You have my heart completely, and I’m proud to be your friend. So when you hear of the news, please don’t be so upset. Let the waves of grief roll through you, and then move on to the next. There always be a next in your life. But, I promise, this is easier and better for me, than the cancer I’d have to fight. I don’t want you holding on to the ugly, bitter end. I want you to remember me handsome and full of life rather than a weak barely put together mess. This is what I wanted, never forget. But I wanted you more. Know that I will dream of you forever. I wish this wasn’t the end. Remember me, darling. Remember me. I’ll soon be joining my old pet. I love you. I love you so much. Remember that time we went to the zoo, and stayed there all day? Remember that day at the park, we kissed on the swings? Remember remember remember. And please don’t be sad. Remember me, baby please. Think of me, think of me and remember that you deserve the whole world, think of me when you’re down. Think of the way I’d kiss you whenever you’d look at me with those brown eyes and frown. Keep living, angel. You have so much to do. I’ll be watching from heaven, and I am and will be so proud of you. I will finally be at peace, and someday you will too. I love you. I suppose it’s time for me to go. Stay strong for me, angel. So long Rebecca. And, in case I don’t see ya, good morning good afternoon and goodnight, my love.

How do I begin to describe my feelings for you I do not know what is real and what is right when I think of you

Am I a fool, to throw away the closet I’ve gotten to love, you Or am I wise, to avoid a snake in disguise: you

During possibly the worst times in my life I met you Or perhaps the best, I can’t recall, I felt I was finally happy when I met you

During my psychosis, and euphoric states I thought of you I don’t remember what I did, that drove me further away from you

Except being the obvious, out of control, manic idiot that probably embarrassed you Will you ever forgive me? Will I ever forgive you?

The future is uncertain, and I can’t tell if I want you Or perhaps the idea of you

Whatever it is, I can’t shake the feeling I lost out on you For some reason, even though you made me hate you

I still remember those moments where I could’ve loved you

The dishes clattered in the sink loudly with an earsplitting clashing noise. The mentally ill mother screamed at her daughter for making eggs that morning. The same mother who wouldn’t leave the boyfriend she had dated for the past ten years…the very one who had touched upon both her daughters. I couldn’t imagine what life would be like in your shoes. My whole life, all I ever wanted was to help you. Not until I was 19, and I had my first psychotic break from reality. And I felt this immense amount of guilt, for not telling anybody. The police came to our school, and still you did nothing. Not that I blame you, of course not, you’re the victim. But I wish you would’ve said something. I won’t claim to understand the fear in you, the idea of foster care must have seemed overwhelming. But watching what went on in your house was worse than the idea of trying. I wish things were different. I wish you would’ve let me say sorry. After my blackout, I’m sure you hated me, for saying things I didn’t remember, I’m excusing nothing. I hope you know and remember who I am. Like I remember who you were. I wish you all the best in life, and I hope you get your head in the game, and navigate through it. Don’t give up.

Life without you Teach told me I’m supposed to think About what life would be without my favorite link Favorite link? What would life be like without the person I care about the most? What would life be like without my father ? Without my little brother? Without my puppy Ruby? What would life be like blind and deaf? What would life be like with cancer? What would life be like with type 1 diabetes to go with my type 1 bipolar? It would be life. And I’d be living. Until I weren’t. One thing is certain. Breathing until I can’t. Even that is a choice, but I’d choose to live through it still. No life is perfect. Every life is worth living, I think, even if death seems more attractive. Even if I’m not the star on the screen. Even if my problems pile up like dishes after a long week. I’ll be here still. Trying, doing what I can, making the most out of it. I sometimes feel like I’m running out of time even when people tell me I’m so young. I don’t want to waste it, we only get it once. So, what would life be like if the people I cared about left me ? It would be shitty, that’s true, for awhile. But live will I still.

Click. Beautiful, Daniel thought as he captured the Vietnamese dish in front of him. Daniel had set out on an journey to his mother’s native land country to capture bits and pieces of life in Vietnam. Daniel had hoped this trip would offer him some newfound life perspective, or perhaps life purpose. While the country was rich in culture and sights to see, and he had already captured numerous photographs of the bustling streets, wildlife, and mom and pop restaurants that served amazing authentic dishes such as Pho with meatballs, green onions, thin white noodles, and red strips of beef that slowly cooked all inside a heavenly broth. Daniel wondered if his mother had ever eaten here, and felt drawn to the past and the stories she had shared with him. Apparently her mother had trained in martial arts here in Vietnam, and Daniel wanted to track down her instructor. He had kept in touch with his mother for many years, and she had given Daniel the man’s address. Daniel had called him once over the phone, and though the man’s voice was gruff and abrupt, he seemed genuinely interested in meeting with Daniel, and they had made plans for dinner two days after Daniel had arrived in Vietnam. The dinner was that night, and after stopping at some local shops to pass the time, Daniel became quite nervous upon the meeting. He began to think of questions he would ask the man, but realized most of them circled around his mother. While he was very interested in getting to know what his mother was like as a young woman, he tried to shift more of his focus on the man he was meeting himself. Who is this guy? Where were you born? What was your childhood like? Daniel thought to himself. He felt that knowing the background of this man would add to the novel he (hoped) to be able to write. If there was a story to write, that is. Hopefully he isn’t as taciturn as he was over the phone. In any case, he was interested in the album of photos the man had with his mother in them along with his other students. The wandering thought of the slight possibility of his father being in one of them came to Daniel’s head, but he quickly shooed it away. He did not expect any new information regarding his father. He had scoured the Earth and had come up with nothing, and considered it a dead end subject. Not even his mother knew who his father was, she was embarrassed to admit. She did not give him any details, only that he would likely still be in Vietnam. He had been conceived around the time she had been training with the man he was to meet, and though his mother wouldn’t like it, he felt he must at least try to pry some information out of her instructor. Even if there was a chance of getting closer to the knowledge of his long lost father, Daniel wanted to know. He felt it was a missing piece of history to his puzzle he called his life, and his mother had done little to fuel his imagination. She had tried to tell him it didn’t matter, and that she was the only family he needed. That answer wasn’t enough for Daniel. And so, he set out for Vietnam not only to take pictures, but to get closer to the mystery surrounding his birth as well as the past of his mother. He wanted to know where he had come from, what his roots were. He hoped the trip wouldn’t be a disappointment. As he got dressed for dinner, he tried to think of subtle ways he could hint at asking about the romantic relationships his mother had had at that time. He doubted it would be many, and felt that was the best start to track down information. The book could be about my mother, and from there I could go and interview all the young men in my mother’s life. There, that’s it! It is perfect excuse. Not only that, but it would make a great novel, and I will have plenty of photographs to illustrate the trip. Daniel got his camera together and closed the door behind him.