To behold the sight of your father's death is a great way for you to learn, to be reborn, my son.

I took my father’s body and buried it under the ground with all the others who came to consolidate with the person who they had engaged with all these years. The body felt heavy, and the people were careful. We each carefully poured the soil inside the barrow and waited for the priest to speak his chanting words of the heavenly avenue.

Many good things were spoken about him, many secrets were kept as secrets, the close ones shed weeps of a person, and the rest shed nothing. My mom had enough to weep upon to see her days as alone as they always were. Cramped at a corner, seeing his husband leaving the place. Death was always used to be the talk when I was present; now seeing with her own eyes, she has no words to say at all.

“He was a good man; he has always been a help in times of great difficulty.”

There is no heaven or hell; you all have to end it here; you all have to live it here, and there is no second chance at this.

These words pinch deep when you stand around in the graveyard seeing the flashes of stories under the ground and your father within it; what can he do?

As a man, when you get older, when you see the world, and when you experience it, you realize something important about yourself and the world you inhabit.

It is a suffering place, and when you see the suffering so prominent and so poignant, you tend to cut your losses by building up a family in search of a home where you can come back to, but the question always remains at the back of the mind. What significant things have you given to other people? What was the reason behind your life? Are all these things that you think about mere false ideologies that you hold on to? Where is your death?

As a man, you feel, and this feeling tends to be aligned with other people that they have felt it too, and so knowing this, you try to get into a noble procession and fix things. to bring solutions so that harmony sits under your mattress and you stop thinking about everything, but the only thing that you can do is to make the life of your surrounding person less miserable. Being the hard shoulder when someone needs you, but doing that too makes you feel that you are sacrificing that part of yourself that you love the most, but you need to sacrifice it because familiar faces are in dismay.

You are not god, you are just a man, and sure man has ambitions and he has to make money, he has to be this and that but everything he does, he does it for the sake of his own acceptance that you have accepted yourself, to allow yourself to live, but the most important thing you are forgetting my son is that you are consumed by the thoughts of others, let go let go.

What is it then? What should I do?

It is to follow your inner ability so that you can come out of yourself and save yourself, and in doing so, do not think about anyone else but yourself. Be selfish; your father was a good man, but in return, he never really went for anything, you are different; do not take the same road that your father has taken.

I shook everybody's hand and thanked every one of them, kissed my mom on her cheeks, and took her home. She was weak, stumbling at every pace, standing in front of her marriage photo, which was taken 20 years before. I waited until she felt relaxed, but I guess it is only time that she realizes how lonely of an existence this is when the company goes without any warning.

I left her alone and went my own way.

My inert ability I thought, It's a gamble!! My inert ability lies in the risk that I have always avoided; it's the shame and the failure of my time being consumed with my passion that is the scariest part.

So I parked my car at an old horse racing arena, troubled to get a ticket and troubled to pick a horse. Picked the muscle house and went inside the stadium to test my luck.

The seats were rusted and people inside were oblivious and scared, wanting to taste some wine inside their lives. Waiting for the miracle luck to so then their hours that are going by behind their notice, and on the top of the balcony shielded by the glass was all the elite class with good women and tight pussies, and below me was the poverty and their respective hangover of the previous night.

The gun blazed his signal, and each of the horses kicked the duct with immense force.

The horse I picked was 28, and he was fighting; oh boy, you should have seen this creature with all the muscles tackling and fighting the pain and the oxygen to beat each and everyone, and I settled in with the other unfortunates to feel the rush of the money battling getting hold of me to see through the gamble and pray for a win.

“It's a neck-and-neck battle with Muscle Horse and Dark Knight; both of the horses look fabulous while turning the curve, and Muscle Horse takes the lead with only 100 m left to cross the line. Dark Knight is coming back but it is too late now ladies and gentlemen, muscle horse wins.”

As I went to collect the winning money from the cashier, I cried the heaviest cry that was pent up in me and took the car back and started painting again.