There are things that we all know are true, but we will never admit to it. There are skeletons in all our closets, but we pretend that we can face the daylight every morning. Aren't we all illusionists?

I create a world where I can live in because I need it to sustain myself. I create the illusion of support from people I know I will never get it from. I create the illusion of strong friendships when I know they are fragile. I create the illusion of family when I know eventually we face our own loneliness. I create the illusion of happiness because it's my life's pursuit. I create the illusion of safety, of peace, of harmony, of trust, of confidence- because I am not willing to face my fears directly- that I am not secure, I do not feel stable, I need harmony, I don't know whom to trust, and I am not confident. I am a big believer that ignorance is bliss, and the irony is I also believe self-induced ignorance can be bliss.

Eventually when you dig into every single person it is a tiring myriad of problems. You open one door and you are led deeper and darker into an abyss of loneliness, sadness and uncertainties. Everyone has loved deeply, been hurt deeply, and longs to love again somehow. It is easy to fall in love, it is not easy to stay in love or be faithful. It is easy to believe that you can be different, it is not easy to realise the humanity and flaws that you have, that we are all no different from the other- skin for skin, hurt for hurts. Every morning we create our own illusions to have enough courage to live for the day. Some try to lose weight, some dress better, some gossip- and it is all the same, it is to create the illusion of confidence or power so that you have the strength for the day.

If my bubble gets burst I will blow it up again. If someone interferes with my balance I will fight to stabilise it again. If someone crushes my dreams, dashes my hopes, wrecks my body- I will find someone to love again, to dream, to hope to build my body up again with.

Have you heard the Rocky Balboa story? I remember it being told in church before. You get hit, you get up again. You get hit, you get up again. And you can keep on getting hit in life until your mouth's filled with spit and blood and your body and mind and soul is bruised. But just before the last punch that's meant to send your grave, I swear you WILL get up again.

I will.