Making sense of the crazies

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To my credit can be a book with a bunch of “crazies” my short life has been a part of.

There was this time when I painted my sister’s face red while she lay asleep on her warm and comfortable bed. Her face had to be scratched and rubbed for an hour and then alone did the red finally let go. And then there was this time when I told my parents I had got 99.9 (out of 100) in Maths and English. I was eight and my lying skills were so polished that for a month they believed my every word. Nobody, and I mean N-O-B-O-D-Y had ever got 99.9 in my school, maximum was 92. But since I was an overachieving lier, I decided to push my luck.

When I was 12, I would sit by the window and wait for the first light of the day. While my sister would be asleep, my grandmother would be hyperventilating. She assumed something had gotten hold me, something unholy. But then again, I would be surprised (= have a mini heart attack) too, if I found a child sitting all alone, in the dark, waiting by the window and staring through the glass.

I never lasted the night, the tired bones always gave way and I would always wake up to the bright morning sun already halfway through his usual route round the earth.

Though I never saw the first light,
there is something that stayed with me through those sleepless nights.

The dark doesn’t last forever,
the trials might go on forever,
the pain might last the night,
but when the night ends,
the sun always, always comes up.

As I fall asleep,
I might remember things that aren’t so sweet.
Fights and lies and all those troubles,
but I get a second chance the moment I fall asleep…

because…

the sun always, always comes up.

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