Diana Kurniawan

I am forgiven, for my past sins and the sins of my Father and those of my ancestors. I am forgiven for the journey that is a struggle and the walk with depression is a constant miracle, away from the devil's plan of total anguish and instant death. This life is forgiven, for anything that I was assaulted for, and for every and any arguments the devils retorts towards God.

 

The life I am is full of mercy and I am a living being of miraculous grace.

 

The forgiveness upon me gives me the right at the King's court and this forgiveness encourages the future, and hate is dumbfounded; because the game that hatred plays is more important than the trophy they claim to earn. I am forgiven for everything that accuses me of sins and I am forgiven for the sins the accusers labels upon me. I am forgiven for every instant evil prayers flies out of the devil's mouth out of deceit, greed, racism and injustice, because this forgiveness wreaks havoc on their selfish needs.

 

Forgiveness is in my best interest and benefits me because the education gives me skills as I walk in joy and fullfilling contentment. I am forgiven because I forgive and strength upholds me and places me at the right hand of God. I love this forgiveness because I breathe in wholeness and love and I even mezmerize the eyes of those who once batters my life. This forgiveness is truth and honesty in the flesh with tangible results that I can touch and marvel as I live with a youthful heart and soul. 

 

I am forgiven with an evergreen forgiveness, especially given to me, and no one else because I am not just special. I am holy and divine because I forgive. I am not crazy because I am forgiven and there will never be any form of insanity about me, for I am diligent and prodigious and victory is a guaranty. I am forgiven and there is no mark of victim over me, instead a mark of love, greatness and favor on my forehead. There is no defeat over me or my life, because I am forgiven and it is a winning sign.

 

Just write.

I wanted to ask Rambo to come with me to Knox. Knox was a five storey building on Colfax that sold everything the way Wal-Mart used to. After the White Plaque, the New Order took office and everything in life was stratified by status and socio-economic levels. The race riots burned everything down, and the plaque killed nearly 25 million people. The New Order became ruthless in death and taxes as surely as it happened in front of our eyes. 

 

I sped up flying over the crowds from the corner of Grant Street, and hit a wall with the end of my paddle and bounced off to the front of Knox. Rambo wasn't anywhere in sight. I was only allowed to shop by "top-shelf" rule due to my Father being a surgeon. Top three shelves only or Tier 1, and the next three was for those in the next lower income bracket, and the lowest income levels shop the last three shelves.

 

The homeless could only shop for only consumables with tokens from the government offices from the vending machine out front near the parking lots of Knox. All the first-aid products were not readily available. All health-related products were the most expensive items and they were rationed by household and income levels. All meats were reduced by size and lean percentage, from the leanest as most expensive only for top-shelvers. All other fatty meats were for those earning Tier 2 at less than $300,000 but more than $100,000, and Tier 3 was less than $100, 000 but more than $35,000. Everything had a code, matched to my ID and my name.

 

I wished I could purchase popcorn by the dozens like the Tier 3ers, because Rambo could buy a 10-pack for $10 from his job as the garbage disposal aid, while my shelves cost me $10 for two bags. I would trade marshmallows with Rambo if he was around.

 

I took my paddle and shrunk it down to fit the inside of my shoulder pack and jumped off my longboard.

 

"ID, please," said the front store attendant.

 

I showed him my shoulder and the chip scanned on his scanner gun.

 

"Tier 1 only," he said.

 

I breathed in, and walked inside.

 

Just write.

 

 

My mind had a curly-cue of thoughts that spiraled this morning, and I was tired by 8 am. Breathing didn't do and I tried to put away thoughts of my oppressors, those who harmed me, but the memories silenced and shunned me. I locked my own jaw from the racing thoughts and I walked outside and touched a leaf. The Corinthians spoke and captured my thoughts, as I inhaled deep and spoke life to myself.

 

There was never anything wrong with writing, as my life felt like it depended on it. Writing will keep me alive, and not even the devil could stop me. Negative thoughts told me that I was no good, and my writing would never be seen, or appreciated, and the devil won. Hot tears flowed down my face, but my mask soaked it.

 

It was more difficult to entertain the vortex inside my brain than to let it go. I surrendered and told God, "take me as I am and promise to keep me alive," as if a pair of angel ears were listening. Right now, the world won't keep turning based on negativity. The world will keep turning for optimism, hope, faith, love and humanity. I won't live for the negative, instead I will breathe in the positive, the truth, and the life. I won't stop writing, although it felt hopeless and it felt like no one wanted me to write.

 

Writing was free, and it felt honest and beautiful and will keep me going. I will surrender more, read more, learn more, and embrace the unknown. It already happened, because my writing was done long ago and it lived on. I won't think less of my craft or compare, because to each their own when it came down to it. Every prose concocts out of the immersion from the soul of the writer's life, and it was never for comparison.

 

The sadness won't dampen me, instead I will trade it on these empty pages. Writing it down and typing it aways, and letting it live to be an example for those who might experienced the same. Every writer had their sorrows, and I was no different.

 

Just write.