What Alfred Pennyworth Taught Me

Shit happens.

And you don't need a reason why.


'Hello, Master Bruce.'

I love/hate movies that can make me cry. Especially if it struck my heart a few times and made it bleed tears of hold-on-a-minute-I-need-to-breathe kind of liquid. I just finished watching Batman VS Robin, like, 5 minutes ago and it made me cry like hell. Not exactly the result on what you'd expect from a DC movie. Considering the times I opened my jaw because of all the blood and action, I was surprised I shed tears in between.

You see, when Bruce's mom and dad got killed, he suspected a group of rich people his dad told him about planned their death all along. So he spent most of his childhood days spying on these so-called Court of Owls and trespassing their mansions so he can make them pay for what they did. He searched high and low to find enough evidence just to prove they killed his parents.

'And did you find any?', Alfred said.

Unfortunately he didn't.

Because those people never existed. His dad was right. It was just a story. The group of rich men was just another legend and they never planned to murder Bruce's parents. No one did.
'You see, we all look for meaning behind the tragedies that befall us. And sometimes the meaning is there. But sometimes, Master Bruce, terrible things just happen. No sinister plots. No secret societies. They just happen.'

*sniff sniff*

Which reminds me of everything I ever thought of about my mother's death. I blamed almost everyone: the doctors, her relatives, the government, God, my dad and even myself.

And admit it, wouldn't it make more sense if you had someone to blame? We blame something or someone even if the puzzle never truly fits because we feel safer. More secure. We have all our anger channel towards the blamed. At some point we leave a space on ourselves for revenge. Then we come to think that if we do the same thing to the person..

..if we'd make them feel the misery they have caused us then maybe we'll feel better.

Will we? Yes.


But the anger is still there. The wound never healed and the heart still aches. It's like releasing air from a balloon and holding a grip of the end, if you tie it tighter, the balloon's still fucking bloated. 

We don't need a reason why shit happens.


Whichever you choose to believe, shit will always happen either way. So don't go asking yourself why all those problems came to you or what have you done to deserve those. Because you don't deserve all the shit you're going through right now. No one does.

It's all on what you do with the shit.

'Will you just stare at it and complain of how bad it smells? Or will you use it as fertilizer?'



Muscle Museum by Muse
One for the Road by Arctic Monkeys
Raise the Dead by Kyla La Grange
Behind the Sea by Panic! at the Disco
Rollerblades by Eliza Doolittle


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