Son of the scorching sun, dweller of the valley of Death

The emptiness hasn't fade away this time. In fact, today I was almost unable to concentrate at work; I spent the whole morning distracted, only being able to push some minor tasks and 2 pages of my thesis. It is also true that the work load has diminished drastically, which I consider something neutral, as I have income coming related to easy task I can easily maneuver over. The pain has reduced, I only have a minor limping that I hope will not interfere with my normal life after this week - yoga is helping a lot.

Also summer has officially started and it's fucking hell in here. I hate summer. I hate humidity. It drains my will to live; I wake up in the middle of the night sweating and going out feels like a trip to the first circle of hell. Two more months of this won't help cheering me up, considering that the pepper season starts in like two weeks.

Fundamentally, I feel tired.

Still, today I went to cut my hair and trim my beard and I had a really good time with the barber, who happens to be the father of a member of the choir. I truly enjoy these; we have some human talk, and today the "friendship" or rather comradery crystalized as he was open about talking with me about politics and life stuff. I presented my position caring about my public imagine; showing up my Unabomber-esque tendencies won't do any good to my business now that it's giving some profit after almost two years of sacrifice. I told him what I feel; that I am a localist, that I care deeply about my fatherland and that I would love to do something to fix the current state of affairs that implies it to be depleted from the birds of the youngsters and where the communities are basically uber-dead, stating that I enjoy being a member of the choir as it gives me both a community and a chance to keep my roots alive through singing. We also talked about the civil war, our families, our ancestries. It was fun and he really enjoyed a conversation "further beyond peppers and daily frugality".

He told me that we should hang out some time with a beer.  

 I am a proud son of my land, and I would like to preserve my culture and heritage. I am a descendant of fighters, of wrestlers, of people that twisted fate itself by force and sheer will. I am the product of generations of effort and stubbornness, and a direct grandson of people incredibly poor that gave their all to give me and my parents a future. That sure is a heavy load; a burden so heavy I feel not entitled nor qualified to carry on. I, sometimes, feel like a failure to my ancestors. A crippled one, to be precise.

Afterwards I went to my grandparents house. It seems like gramps has gotten worse. I can feel that the Hour is near, and yet when I got there I was so tired and so exhausted from my own inner world, and especially for not getting help from other lawyers I befriended with a very important case despite asking for it repeatedly, that I killed time on the phone.

At the time of waking pops up for going to bed, he was unable to stand, and due to the effort he made to not leave me alone with all his weight, he got his skin cancer bit pumped and a bubble of blood came out. We both managed, after a couple attempts, to bring him to the bathroom. Seeing him with a diaper on, unable to stand, visibly embarrassed, was hard.

Afterwards, we both went to his bedroom and I put in on his bed. I try to cheer him, but I cannot stop thinking about what he told me yesterday in the trust that has bonded two solitary people that manage to understand each other. He said: I would rather be dead than being alive like this". And I understand him; he's not able to move freely anymore, his diet is severely restricted, he's got the cancer and all. He's just a shadow of the man he uses to be, and he's so conscious about that, so sad about that, that his flame is slowly flickering away in inner solitude.

I do not know how to tell how I feel to him; he's never been sentimental and I would probably cry given the current circumstances.

Still, I do not see death as a bad thing, but rather a moment of ascension and transformation, one that brings us to the afterlife and inner peace. Nonetheless, I will miss him when the moment comes.

I prayed yesterday to the holy souls. I've prayed an empty rosary to be helped. I feel as disconnected as ever, and I think that my faith and mood shouldn't be as explosive and hit or miss oriented.

Still, I cannot stand this void, this sense of emptiness, this numbness, this feeling of being isolated. I hate being fucking crippled, spending my youth fighting to take back what was mine while the shadow of death closes on.

Tomorrow, the sun will rise again, and, maybe, something will change.

 As, for now, I am still feeling down, dwelling through this valley of death, waiting either for Someone to pick me up or darkness to eat me for once.