Abraham Lincoln, 16th President of the United States of America once said, “In the end, it’s not

the years
in your life that count, it’s the life in your years.” It is a reminder to enjoy life, and all it brings and
entails.

I like children, especially the young ones, because everything they find is wonder. Every new sight, taste,
touch, smell and sound gives them joy. When I look into their eyes, I see and feel, a childlike wonder
which I myself have forgotten. To them, the world is exciting, and theirs to explore, to build and to
change. Which is why it is always sad ( to me at least ) when they grow up. As they grow older,
experience more, they lose their childlike wonder, which is buried under the numerous responsibilities
of an adult. They forget to enjoy life, to just simply be.

But there are those like myself, who long for something more, something to break the monotony. There
are some, like myself, who long for the days when life was simple, bright, and beautiful. There are those
that long for adventure. We long to enjoy life again, to be thrilled by it. So I strive to pursue it, that
fleeting temptress. To boldly go where few have gone before.

And so I end with a final quote by Gandalf, a character in Lord of the Rings. “It’s a dangerous business,
Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing
where you might be super off to.
He who lifts virility experiences bafflement every time he is asked what he truly loves. As a lad who
hasn’t been conquered by maturity, he finds more time to focus on sentimentality, and lesser time to
reality. He, who is a childish and ignorant man loves the only thing that can hurt him-his emotions. Until
he tried to compare himself with the only thing that he created in his entire life, wherein people call it
“sentiments”, and he call it “magnum opus”. Not minding the unspecificity, that boy was actually me.

How could I compare myself with my emotions? A big question that even the most quick-witted human
can’t answer. Let’s start, by my happiness wherein it is temporary, just like my existence into this world.
Sooner or later, I’ll be lying in my grave with my melancholic supinate position. Fear, is my alternate
universe, the other side of me and this is the only dimension wherein I hold the key and no one could
enter unless they get to know me in my most profound form. And with these two emotions, fear and
happiness, I can see myself in a coffin and in my life after decaying from this world. Yet there is anger,
the most superior of all my emotions, can be compared with my resiliency to rise up from the ashes of
oddity. It is something that can be likened with a spark as it turns into a fire, a new hope that intensifies
in the middle of a caliginous tunnel. Therefore I conclude, that because of anger, I have the liberty to
rise up again. But there is sadness who represents my downfall. Someday, and I’ll wait for that day that
my list of failures will be uncountable by my hands. But the significance of this is that, I lived. Ith or
without dereliction, I had lived.

Someone said that, “ Emotions are your friends, and not your enemies.” That is why I learned to love my
emotions, my only masterpiece and the only thing that I consider as my magnum opus.
 Her problem starts every morning, right after every sip of a pool of a poor consistency mixture of “only-
adults-drinks-this-stuff.” The temptations floating around the thin air reflects the hair-like smoke in
which her glory doesn’t spike within minutes until breakfast is ready, but she is in no use when she does
not start her day with bitterness, and just like a coffee, its identity lies within the iron taste of the
caffeine.

Her fame rested on her long black fuzzy hair but she was not made to please every tongue, or in this
case, every person in which she encounters, although spiked with an aroma that swims between every
strand of human hair and stays within the fingers of whoever touches it. She is viewed with an utmost
honor, any of her age couldn’t reach, and an aftertaste stays for there are feelings and hate thrown to
her and is valued as a treasure.

The beauty of coffee does not depend on the cases of taste and production, but its factor of consuming
lies within the packaging, just like her, people are friends with her not because she is sweet and
melodramatic to the individuals she is located with, or people hate her for her bitterness towards
people whom she wishes not to see again, but people either like or hate her because she shakes people
to their senses. She wakes them up either by scorching lie to melt the ice-cold heart, or to patch a truth
to the one of the many holes of a broken heart. She wakes them up by bringing a rich company in which
lasts almost an entire day and also risking by replacing an agent that is supposed to mimic an encore
mayhem of tunable diseases. Yet the end is not clear to the naked eye for her other aspect in her life
that seduces people to genuinely like her is how she looks, excluding the quote, “Don’t judge a book by
its cover” for there are only two ways to likeliness, good fortune and up-to-date sequence of fabric and
designs. But as soon as the day ends, she fades into nothingness that avails probable tears and cuts, and
probably a spasm of the fist-like structure, the heart.

Depending on how much people give her value and respect, a coffee can undergo a change wherein it
will benefit a tongue and as well as oppose another one. She is livid to live a life wherein bitterness is a
subject of her character and replaces sweetness. Counting her experience with tragedies and car chases,
she stopped dwelling in the light of her past revenues. Her inconsistent ratio would be: 75% of water,
25% of caffeine, and a hundred more percent of bitterness because that’s what she is, an explosion of
darkness – at least that’s what she feels. Relying also to the temperature of a coffee, their
distinctiveness can be observed, a cup of hot coffee emphasizes its true and rich aroma and as well as
fragrance which advocates hot coffee being superior than the cold one but a freezing iced coffee brings
out the bitterness in the crevices of the fluid, and just like this girl, her mood depends on the day
wherein a candy thermometer cannot help but on her days wherein coldness is felt within the tip of her
nose and her true colors come out and her point of retreat is when she is no longer herself, or at least
no longer the same coldness or hotness of the fluid eye-opener.

Her problem does not end every night, right after every cup being cleaned in the sink. No, she is not
colorblind but she knows her world is black and white. For sure, she’ll negotiate with her life in the end,
but for now, what makes her herself is the thing that makes her love her darkness.