The Sloth Saga

𞀲Two

Hiraeth*

I don't remember when I realized it. I'm known for having a horrible memory. But early on in life my world became clear.

I knew what I wanted, and with each passing day my drive grew and grew and grew.

It was as if I had been born with my eyes fixed on the horizon, and I was marching there no matter the cost.

Through blazing hot summer days and numbingly cold winters, I worked and trained because it was my passion. My hands grew calloused, as my skills grew sharper.

It gave me a place in the world; it gave me something to live for.

The battle made me invincible because nothing couldn't be accomplished with time and a little elbow grease.

Yes, sometimes life threw me to the ground, but I'd give a crazy grin and haul myself right back up because that's the person I was.

Nothing would keep me down, so long as I kept my eyes forward, striving for my horizon...

Once upon a time, I found my horizon line, my ultimate goal, and I let it guide me.

But somewhere along the way I became lost. Distracted by the people surrounding me. Trampled on by the possibilities. Trapped in a state of ambiguity.

I was caught in the vast expanse, far from the sturdy shore and a ceaseless distance from my horizon.

The water stilled, and a fog robbed me of any sense of direction.

A gasp for help, a desperate cry for answers. They're met not by comforting arms but voices that lash out from somewhere unseen.

                                                     "Snap out of it"

"Man up"
                                        "Stop crying"

      
  "Get off your ass"

                                                  "You're weak"

"Pathetic"

                                 
"I thought you were better than this"

"Stop being such a disappointment"

I was standing in the shadow of their gaping maws. waiting for them to tear at everything I had believed in with an unrivaled ferocity. It was an attack that made my blood boil and the storm inside my head rage. But sadly these demons couldn't be defeated with impulsive retaliation. If I was meant to conquer them at all...

The voices could make me coarse and strong and cunning. The hunger for answers may light a fire in my eye. Or they could end me -- snuff me out like an incandescent flicker rather than the wild fire I try to be.

It feels like a long time since I've known where I was going but slowly I'll make sense of this.

I swear I will.

But maybe for now I'll sit and listen to the space between me and my horizon, and with any luck I'll learn from it.

I'll ask it questions, and I'll scream about how it's not fair. But at the end of the day only one thing is important.

Is my horizon still there?

*a Welsh word with no direct English translation meaning homesickness for something to which you can not return or that never was