9 years on

Now that I think about it, maybe H was right.
He'd messaged me late on the night before my A Level Literature paper to tell me that my downfall would be caused by my 'hubris'. (Yes, I had to check the dictionary for its meaning back then)
Maybe that's why I can't forget the message, or the day in 2002, or even where I was when I read that message.

What a strange thing to click 9 years down the road, after a long week in school and a retreat thrown in just a week before.
Like someone turned the lightbulb on.
Like someone giving me a tap on the shoulder, saying, 'Stop. Look. Don't walk there.'

I've built up so many barriers it's hard to tear down. These walls of pride, these barricades built on the foundations of open wounds.

I remember the only person I could turn to with my frayed nerves, rather shredded to bits after that sms (it was the A levels for goodness sake, and I had failed all my prelims, in large part due to the failed relationship with H), was my brother.
Although he was only 13 at that time, he listened well and his words gave me peace.
I know Jesus was and is in him, as He is in my friend now.

On pride and humility