Purpose Driven What is the purpose of #life? Every human being before and after me will continue to ponder this question until they find their purpose, or die. Sometimes, I think that #life's purpose lies at the tip of the pen, in the stark contrast of ink against paper, and words born of wit and cunning - for these are the moments when I truly feel alive. Because I am a writer made, and a writer I shall be regardless of whatever educational degree I attain. There are times when I think that this is my purpose: to breathe #life itself into my words, to nurse the babe born out of wisdom, and to cradle the precious message sown together by the strings of knowledge. But then, sometimes writing is merely not enough. There are times when I crave the acceptance of others, their words of praise and their nods of pride. And then I think: this must be what it means to be alive - to receive the warmth of people around me, their love and their complete understanding of who you are as a human being. For there is nothing in the world like the feeling of having to share secret smiles, or the coos of baby talk that you are far too old to receive, and the unconditional love and comfort one gives even though you have done them wrong. One might think this is all one needs to live - a burning passion for something far greater than you, and love. And it is. However, as passionate as I am about writing, nothing surpasses the passion of the Christ, and as much as I love my friends and family, no one can love me more than He already does. His love is a passion that engulfs, that hides you behind the harshness of the world. I have long since found my purpose. My purpose is a burning passion for Someone far greater than I, and the love that He gives me. My purpose is God. And I am driven.

Rock Bottom A great writer once said that if you hit rock bottom, there's no way to go but up. Well, the thing is, this sentiment doesn't really apply to me. I hit rock bottom when I failed all my classes in one semester in the university that was my first choice. I hit rock bottom when I got diagnosed with Bipolar I disorder at the tender age of 17. I hit rock bottom when my friends didn't stay by my side when I needed them most. I hit rock bottom when my dad got into an accident that paralyzed him from the neck down. I hit rock bottom when I finally got kicked out of my university. In each of these events, I'd always thought that things couldn't get any worse, but I was wrong about that. Things do get worse. And every time I hit rock bottom, I think that I'm lower than the dirt I'm lying on. 'Things will get better,' my mum once told me, 'You'll pull through. We'll pull through.' So I fake a smile and turn away from her, because I have no clue how to make things better, or to get out of this rut I'm in. Things seem hopeless for me. Logically, I know that there are people who are in situations that are worse than mine. I have yet to meet them. And I hate. I hate myself for being so insecure and pathetic, for being weak and miserable, for being immature and such a whiner. I'm just tired, and I want to sleep. Preferably forever. I wish I could end this with a sliver of hope, but I have none. I just don't know anymore.