August rush EVERY

August, flashbacks of my years of loss, tragedy, hopelessness, and even the toll of having enemies flood my memories. In those times, I barely recognized my dreams and my goals; everything was bleak, uncertain, almost confusing. To re-examine one’s life must be one of the most difficult stage of moving on. After my father’s death in that gloomy August, I lost the passion and drive to become what I dreamed of I was depressed, devastated. Anguish and regrets can drag you to a pit if you let them.

But I was not a kid anymore. I wrote about hope, and damn put my belief on it - that no matter how wrong things seemed, it would always turn out alright in the end. I felt good about that idea, who wouldn’t? Acceptance, however, is most easily said than done. That episode, my father’s death became the death of one of my dream’s purpose – to impress him, to prove that I can do things, to prove that I’m not immature. All of that was irrelevant in the face of death.

What did I need? What did I want to prove? Surely, I was heavily confused back then. It may have changed in the last five years. To a certain extent, I hoped that I gained a sensibility common to those who have experienced grief, or loss – humility, among others, and a deeper appreciation of life. A couple of years may not have totally changed me, nor was my experience the ultimate tragedy that may shatter one and mend the same anew to a better one (there are countless others who went through worse), I would like to believe that in those years, I did not just lose a life…that I also reclaimed one myself.

What’s the rush in August? I always ask. But, before I tell the story of August, one may wonder about that last weeks before that year’s new chapter. It may not be that hyped month of hearts, but nevertheless a very special one; and that cold merry night after the shared boozed laughter…and two lonely people spent an un-