Why does fear have to exist?: a question that can only be answered by no one, perhaps only by the Almighty One.
I imagine how hard of a time my mother would have to bear if I was born with a lion’s heart. Even when I was a kid, I was oozing with curiosity, probably spawning from my innate lack of fear for the unknown. If I was a bit braver, mom’s hair would have been graying out early, balding even.
Good thing the bundle of joy they received came pre-packaged with Acrophobia and Nyctophobia.
The dark was the only thing I was not curious about. I always felt that a monster or any demon spawn would grab me by the leg and drag me to hell; accumulated instinct from watching too much horror films. Meanwhile for heights, it just came out of nowehere.
In a parallel world, where the dark is just a form of blindness and heights are but elevation, my friends would not have enjoyed seeing me scream like a girl. Without my phobias, I would have been out in the dark pranking people instead of hiding under my mom’s skirt and up on the top of the sand hill throwing rocks at smaller kids.
So in a bizarre form of intervention, my fears actually saved my innate sense of humor into crossing over douchebag territory. They became my regulator, always reminding me to deflate back down to earth.
Up until now, I still get lapses of my childhood demons. They occassionally bug me from time to time; during blackouts and overpass encounters.
And strangely, I thank them for being there.
Like how trees, mountains and rivers are placed where they are, fear exists for a reason. Though we may not know why, we should still thank it for contributing into keeping the world balanced.
Tainted in Technicolor 