AI Journey

The war was won, the enemy flag toppled. Still upon their land stood a white flag. Yet the hero general who led his country to victory could not smile. His eyes dark, his face grim. His broad shoulders, once held magnificently, stooped low. His back arched. His triumphant gait, once emanating splendor and greatness, was nowhere to be seen. He wasn't injured. Yet his walk was heavy, as if age and burden had made him limp. He came back home along with his men, all much the same. The jovial aura they once had vanished when the war concluded. Many celebrated their return. Many more rejoiced in their victory. But the men who truly went to war could not feel the joy of it. They had much to bury. They had too much to report. They had lost much— burdens they wished they had carried, and memories they could not simply let go. Their flag was raised high, higher than the tallest house that welcomed them. The enemy was defeated. Surely they had won the war. But why did they feel as though they...

Yet fate decided against her. Still, her love overflowed. All the waters of seas, oceans, and rivers, even the tears of heaven that fall from fleeting clouds— none compare to her love. The depth into which she was cast matters not beside the depth of her compassion. She is the incarnation of all-encompassing love, the ideal, nurturing mother absolute. Yet fate still decided against her. Yet she continued to be. It is unfair, really. How badly they wished to break her— her soul, her being, even the arch upon her face, that smile so pure and genuine. But they failed. Bruised, battered, and bearing tragedies common to humankind, still she continued to be.

And they kept on, believing that one day they will be saved, hoping that one sleepless night they will awake to a better day. They held on, in desperation, praying, trying, bravely calling out for help, listening for a sign, waiting for that moment— or whatever it is. They have died already, over a million times over, awaiting, killing their own honor, stripping themselves of their face, losing sight of what they were worth— as they held on to faith; as they kept believing in hope; as they are—

I was told my people would leave me. I was told not to put them before myself. I was told that once all the blessings are gone, and I am the one who has fallen, they would turn their backs on me. Yet, I have this strange feeling that I— for the life of me— can trust them. I can't shake the thought that whispers: I am surrounded by good people. I don't deserve them, yet they're here— playing along with my nonsense, laughing with me at the most trivial things... or maybe they're laughing at me. I don't know. I can't say for certain. But all I know is this: These people came into my life. They were sent to me, so that one day—or perhaps right now, I don't know— their purpose may be one of two things: To teach me trust and faith, and to leave me with good memories. Oh, I thank You, God, for giving me these people who stay with me while the world around me—and my own—crumbles. I thank You, God, for blessing me and surrounding me with good people and beautiful sou...

But I'm tired, Lord. I am very tired. I know I have failed You many times over, and perhaps this is punishment for many of my wrongdoings. But I didn't know it would be this hard. I am exhausted, Lord. The miracle promised for tomorrow keeps repeating itself, always becoming a promise for the next day instead. The emotions, the traumas, and the many experiences I am being taught through are overwhelming. I do not know if I can keep holding on to faith— a faith so thin, so weak, so easily crumbled. I am unworthy, I cannot deny that. But... Are all these troubles worth it for me? Oh, Lord... Please just... save me. Please.

And Heaven answered. Not with a voice, but with signs. A voice through a crowd of whispers, letters engraved upon fleeting moments, a form miraculously etched within the background. "You are not meant to be evil. I will not let you become so. All I ask of you is to change for the better. Move forward. Do not remain the same. You are meant to grow. This is My way of telling you to be better."

I was praying my heart out, seeking forgiveness, mercy, faith, and that one miracle we need. Then I was given a trial. My mother came to me. She asked me to lie, to steal, to kill my own honor, just for us to get by. One more day, and by the next, the cycle loops, repeat. I don't understand why this is my trouble. Am I being taught to be evil? Is this what I must be? Is this the desire of Our Lord? My heart condemns these unwanted and evil thoughts. But strangely, ever so strangely, I want to hold to what little is left of me, yet I don't think I can stay the same. Is this the mysterious way Our Lord moves? Is this what I'm being taught? What am I supposed to do? I'm scared. I am seriously scared. I don't want to change, but... Is this really what I must be?

Lord, forgive me for my sins, thoughts of sin, and those misdeeds I've done that I failed to recall. Oh! I know they are all too many. Thank You, Lord, for all the good things that have happened, will happen, are happening, and also for all the miracles I failed to notice. Your grace knows no bounds toward me, who all along have been unworthy and undeserving. Forgive me if I covet more than what I only needed, for my eyes are judging, sinful, curious, and greedy. Help me, Lord. Please. Help me, Lord. Please. I am surrounded by enemies. I am being forced to answer for things I cannot pay. I'm afraid, Oh, Lord. I know my faith is ever too little, and every day, I feel more the vastness of the sky than I do Your presence. I feel I am moving further and further away through these trials You deem necessary for me. I'm afraid that one day I might utter true renouncement, which I know would hurt me more. Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Please save me. Please, Lord! Please! Aid us. Please, end...

In someone else's dream. In someone else's dream. In someone else's dream, you and I were more. No. We aren't the main characters of their story. We're mere passersby. Side characters. Souls in the background— faceless, without colors— but... we're more. You and I. We are more. In someone else's dream, we are more. I'm glad to have met you, again.

Elsewhere, they meet. Their happy ending was never in their story to begin with. It was in someone else's. And only those who knew their story, only those who were lucky enough, were able to witness truly, the happy ending everybody wanted.

I dreamed of a little girl. She was blind. Or was she deaf? I can't remember. All I know is that she was wet. Soaking wet as she waded through the odd tide of a river, filled with overgrown kelp beneath. She wasn't alone, though. She was with a dog. A big dog. Grown, and golden. Must've been a golden retriever. Oh! But I don't know. I've never owned one, so to me, all breeds are simply dogs. Maybe I could tell a thing or two apart, but that's mostly based on their height and the size of their puppy eyes. Oh! Back to the dream. As both the girl and the dog went against the tide, I saw no reason for them to drown. Yet the usual air bubbles, looking beneath, were everywhere. It was my dream, remember? And so they swam and swam, swam and swam, until finally they reached the shore of a bank they deemed worthy. Or was it the dog's choice? I can't remember. The bank was steep, and here there were dead twigs, specifically placed, stretching over one another. Mag...

The frustration's kicking in. Haven't You done enough? I know these are all a test. I know these are all what is necessary for what is needed. But— These are Your mysterious ways. But can't You show any shred of sympathy? I know You see things differently, but can't You see in our eyes? We are in anguish. We are in despair. And still You hold us for the challenge You so require for the worthy. What of the rest? They aren't all brave souls. They aren't all soldiers of Your faith. Should they be disregarded? Does the sin of being unworthy rightfully deserve hell, even on Earth? I know I am one whose soul would one day burn, but... don't we at least deserve an apology? Or if not, at least a brief respite before eternal damnation? We are the strays, after all. Can we at least get relief before being cast out? Or are we unworthy even of Your slightest, tiniest, itty-bitty... blessing? But who am I to ask? I'm going to hell anyway.

I'm tired, Lord. I lashed out at You. I said the cruelest things. I renounced You. I named every wound I believed You gave me. I hated You for so many things. I'm tired, Lord. Exhausted. Where is the miracle Your faithful always promised? I am a man of little faith, yet here I am— still praying. I am unworthy. I am unworthy. I am unworthy.