Sure?

What makes one sure that he is a normal human being, I personally am not totally aware of my past memories, there seems to be large defects, the only proof of it is the memory i made out of paper, but sometimes there is a page missing, what happened then, isn't it possible that that date harbored some terrible event the memory of which is repressed after a severe nervous breakdown i had then, sometimes you can see it in the eyes of those who surrounds you, their eyes reflect the fear of the past crawling over to our present, it is like the eyes of that who is looking at someone at the edge of an abyss; standing by; he fell before and he might as well fall again: standing by not sure if he can save him, probably not, it is just too far. The eyes pray at every glance; god have mercy on us and aid us that it never happens to him again, the fear and the anxiety carry a clue to that missing page, either inside a tomb or splashed with Someone's blood. why is it that we get so emotional to a certain pattern some drama scenes or life events, for no particular or apparent reason, is it something close to what have happened to us, am i getting closer to remembering what had happened to me................
Perhaps normal is just an opinion.

These days would never come back.

.Eeeeeeeh, in the hematology lecture, when the professor was preparing her slide show, some of us wanted the slides to occupy the full screen, but our professor was confused by us keeping telling her all of all at the same time go up, no no left, nooooo right, oh you missed it, and that kind of stuff, at last one of us who were in the front row went down to her and pressed f5 and so many of us clapped greetingly, the professor smiled joyously and we laughed, it is one of the candid and naive moments of spontaneous unexpected events that inspire happiness, we were happy for sometime and after we enter the maze of life it isn't likely to have something like that again, it was just a note for history

Happy New Year.

When I see havens raining tar,
fountains sprinkling skulls,
rivers streaming with white and black,
when a detestful child is not so far,
pointing at us with grins,
for how long did we wish and hope,
for it to be a bless,
now she lies in her grave lined by our memories,
congratulations, a new sister,
sure she is the change,
after all what my eyes have seen,
and an ideal of a rotten child,
what difference would she be
and what change can she brings.