Those days

You know how they go. You walk into a bus full of people (especially known for smile deficiency) and you wish you had better days. Off the bus and to the people in the street, you meet those you would've wanted to see on another day, but no.  There they are, radiating those negative energies at you and you just feel the churn in your guts. And then you walk into an office to inquire about your refunds, and you get this reprimanding tone on why you haven't learned the language of the place after all these years. You wonder what you did wrong that day and why you feel the whole world seems to hate you.

But then when you come home, you hear the voice of a boy who breathes of love.  All that he's said so far is "Mum?" but that's enough to replant your feet on the ground. That voice is calling at you, asking you to keep it together. The door opens and he welcomes you with a big bear hug.

You close the door, lock it from the world of indifference outside. You take a few steps and then there's this other, smaller voice, blurting soft whimpers while flailing arms and legs. You can sense how happy he is to see you, to smell the scent of your presence. You take him up and indulge him with his milk. He pauses in between suckling, looks up to you, and gives you that pure smile.

And then it hits you. Life can be unbearable sometimes as if to scatter your whole being into the sea of indifference. And then there's that loving gaze that looks at you, telling you that you matter. You then know that you have to gather yourself again.