i’m not mother teresa. nor am i running for sainthood. but i do believe i can get too compassionate most of the time. taking pity on strangers who tell you sad, sad tragic tales with weepy eyes that look almost sincere. all kinds of stories. some believable, others, well, believable still. it all depends on how they deliver the lines.

it even pains me to feel pain over the fact that i find watching homeless people on the streets painful. because it makes me keep wishing i could do something. when i know i can’t. not yet. that i myself need help from my own parents just so i wouldn’t be out there living with the people i take pity on on the streets.

and here i am wanting a better life for the rest of the world. when i need a better life for myself.

lesson learned. the hard, expensive way.

let it go.