The Void and the Old Man
I am here standing on the edge of the abyss. A voice deep down is calling out to me. I was yearning to give in to its tempting voice. Shall I heed its call?
In my journey in the street of life, I have absorbed a great deal of stories from voyagers with varying perceptions towards the withered leaves falling in front of them. Most of them are too focused on their destination that they just walk pass through the leaves of pessimism. Their torch of inspiration blinded my eyes. How could these insane people ram the optimism down their throats?
One gloomy day, I bumped into a weak old man. His hair grayed by the dying air that surrounds him, his skin tanned by the summer heat. Wondering, I asked him, “How come you’ve gone this far?” He murmured with a smile, “That’s what we are born to do.” The look in his eyes seemed like a windy and cloudy Saturday afternoon; serene yet melancholic. Puzzled with his riddle, I looked back to ask more, but I couldn’t see a trace of him anymore.
Bumping into this man gradually lit up the dying torch inside me. My path has never been this clear. Now, I am gracefully continuing my walk once again; ignoring all the withered leaves on my way. I am born to walk with them. I believed so.
Then a gnawing storm of doubts disturbed the straight path I am taking. The whirlwind is blowing the fire inside me. I thought I eluded the voice deep down. No, I did not. It became extremely deafening. It is as loud as the sound of a hard stone being ground. It is calling me once again. Old man, where are you?
I am here standing on the edge of the void. I could hardly go against the wind pushing me, the gravity pulling me. I was about to fall until I heard the old man’s voice again.
