The Journey to Sourire

I am walking on familiar shaky grounds once again. With wooden shaped toys and apples in my backpack, I listen in closely to a voice, there is someone giving me directions in the distance, the voice is faint and sometimes inaudible, but I try my best to make out what little I hear and understand; it is all I have. You see, I am going on a journey with a mission in mind. I am off to see a friend, a close buddy of mine. I am off to pat his head, hold his little hand; to pray and to make sure he's fine. I am on a journey to Sourire (the land of smiles).

I first make my way through the family of willows. They are a depressing bunch, branches bare and thin, always doing their usual dance (they lower and shake head in unison), and always sighing. Frankly speaking, I do not like their company at all. I do not appreciate their ghostly whispers or their other forms of sympathetic greetings. I refuse to recognize their symbols of agony. I hate them. I loathe them. Because, they are the ones that make me remember... that I should be sad.

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It is still a long journey ahead, and I am running out of time. The path is treacherous, and the darkness of the winding vines traps the efforts of the mind. I am lost and my feet are tired. It seems a little far-fetched now. Will I be there on time? Will I ever make a difference? Am I on the right track? My hope is fading. It is alright though, cause they all say in situations like these, it is hard to have any hope at all...

Nevertheless, I choose to trudge on in faith. Snapping branches and kicking rocks. Punching through creeper walls and fighting monsters. I guess in such difficult times, your body is just a puppet and your heart does all the walking.