The life wisdom imprinted on me by a Cambodian Survivor
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Today’s post is courtesy of the talented writer, Ta Hiron, who authors Notes my heart wrote, an inspiring collection of poetic explorations of the world and our place in it. I have this dream of going down this sunny beachside road. I am in the driver's seat; the ocean is on my left, and green rolling hills are on my right. It is relaxed, and I am heading somewhere I cannot see, but I know I want to be. Then, as I gaze out the left window, out over the ocean, the calm waters begin to roughen, and white caps appear on growing waves. The sky starts to darken. In the distance, closing in far too quickly, are towering dark grey clouds, heavy and fierce, already bursting around the edges with pouring rain. On my right, a road appears ahead. I can glance far enough to see that it heads back into the sun, and I try to steer towards it. As I turn the steering wheel, I realise it makes no difference to the car's direction. I put on the break, which again makes no difference. I am getting frantic as the sunny road passes me. Then, with the option to turn off passed, it dawns on me that I might not choose this road ahead, but it is the one I am on.
The life wisdom imprinted on me by a Cambodian Survivor
The life wisdom imprinted on me by a…
The life wisdom imprinted on me by a Cambodian Survivor
Today’s post is courtesy of the talented writer, Ta Hiron, who authors Notes my heart wrote, an inspiring collection of poetic explorations of the world and our place in it. I have this dream of going down this sunny beachside road. I am in the driver's seat; the ocean is on my left, and green rolling hills are on my right. It is relaxed, and I am heading somewhere I cannot see, but I know I want to be. Then, as I gaze out the left window, out over the ocean, the calm waters begin to roughen, and white caps appear on growing waves. The sky starts to darken. In the distance, closing in far too quickly, are towering dark grey clouds, heavy and fierce, already bursting around the edges with pouring rain. On my right, a road appears ahead. I can glance far enough to see that it heads back into the sun, and I try to steer towards it. As I turn the steering wheel, I realise it makes no difference to the car's direction. I put on the break, which again makes no difference. I am getting frantic as the sunny road passes me. Then, with the option to turn off passed, it dawns on me that I might not choose this road ahead, but it is the one I am on.