It seems that, for me, confession is a habitual activity on this day.
It is very hard for me to believe that I have existed for such a long time on this planet as well.
Twenty-five years. During these years, the first eighteen years, I think, could be likened to the medieval dark age. Barbarian, dormant, instinctive, quickening, childish instead of innocent, and waiting. Sometimes I felt that I was too young, too naive to be a grown-up during the later years.
But twenty-five years! Sometimes I did feel that I have lingered long engough that it was quite difficult to suppress the urge to rush to the end. Was I mature enough? I don't think so.
And now, there is a person who swore to accompany me till time extinguishes both of us. I swore the same oath to him. The promise we exchanged is not one that is always easy to keep. But I think it is worth every effort.
Twenty-five years. I think I could go on for another twenty-five years with his company.
"A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread--and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness--
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow! " Omar Khayyam/The Rubaiyat