haste not.

Once begun, suicidal thoughts never really go away.

But it isn't that I've ever attempted suicide. Even when despair seeps into the cracks of my self, I know I will continue. My thought is "What if I end my existence now and stop all this?" And I imagine the loss to the world I know — the pain to my family and the plaguing questions to my friends.

And I imagine that a terrible car accident tomorrow causes my hands to be cut off, and my life is now handless. (Please note that drawing, designing and climbing are me now.)

I don't have great ambitions or goals. But still, there is so much I want do — more that I want to experience, more that I want to learn about my self and existence.

When reminded of my want and mortality, I feel a panic rising and pounding from my chest straight into my head. "I must hurry."

Before the panic reaches my face, I tell myself, "Haste will not give you what you want."

And it is true. I can start things now, but it might be some time before the want is satisfied. When will it ever be? Perhaps when simply I'm tired or too aged to continue. During my haste, things will be missed or discarded in the efficiency and pace.

What I want is life by living.

Then simply I must live here now.