looking at the future from the past
Since my birth I have been constantly influenced. While some influence is good, others are bad. And although a lot of my bad experiences have influenced my life negatively, almost in earnest hopes of defeat, it seems as though my savior came not one second later after his summoning. He who laid down the heavy sack of bricks upon my back, who wiped the sweat and exhaustion from my forehead, and cleared the never-endingly brewing storm in my mind, he is the man whom I deem a great lover, but above all, a sincere best friend. It was during the trying times of my sophomore year in college, that he stood before me, when I looked to the heavens and begged of God for just one friend unto whom I could weep my misery. And although that person could have been as bleak as a cold winter wind, I was given so much more than I believed I deserved. He came bearing gifts, and his riches were abundant. Never once did I ask where they flourished from, nor did their flow ever hinder. This man, a mere student of life himself, began to teach me. To teach me to put my blunders aside and steadfastly take hold of the reigns that lay before me. Happiness, he explained, is not a wish or a command, but rather a perspective. On the one hand I was looking into the glass house I dreamed of inhabiting, rather than believing it was already in my grasp, and with only the turn of the knob, I too would be inside. Now I could not believe such a farce as this, until I realized there was no glass house in the first place, just my mirror image of a world I thought I could not touch. That world was a dark treacherous wilderness of myself. A year after the long haul of college, I continue onward through my eventful journey. This one year will not only denote the anniversary of my graduation, but also the anniversary of one year in my career with the government. One year as a criminal investigative assistant in the Narcotics Division of the U.S.Customs allows me the experience to pursue a travel opportunity to Washington D.C. as an FBI agent concerned with homicide related cases. But the fun is only beginning. For whose suicide bomber�s C4 is funded by crazed principalities trading narcotics for arms with terrorists? Only the CIA would have the absolute jurisdiction to use those answers. But, of course, CIA, FBI, and U.S. Customs, make no difference to me if my heart ignites a fire to marry, bear children, and run off to Spain, in dear hope of opening a caf�. Greatly enough, either path will charm me, as long as I can remain within my current perspective. And that would be positively happy.
