Growing Up, I Didn't Have A Lot

Genocide Is Like A Dessert. It Is Made Of The Flesh And Bones Of Woman And Children, It Is Sweetened With The Blood Of The Innocent, And It Is Baked In The Ovens Of Auschwitz. There Were Truths To Be Learnt And There Was Wisdom To Be Gained... But There Was A Price To To Be Paid As Well. You Could Not Brush Up Against The Future And Escape Unscathed. You Could Not See Into The Forbidden And Avoid Damage To Your Sight.

What I Want To Write About Has Changed Somewhat, And The Scope Of The Storytelling Has Changed Accordingly.

You Spend So Much Time Wondering Who You Are, Don't You Think? You Flounder About, Searching For Your Identity, When Most Of The Time It Is Plain As The Nose On Your Face. You Struggle With Questions Of Purpose And Need, And Forget That The Answers Are Found Mostly Inside Yourselves.

Who Would You Be But Who You Are?

We Live Out Our Lives As We Are Meant To Live Them-with Some Choice, With Some Chance, But Mostly As A Result Of The Persons We Are.