Her mere presence was like a gently lain, dulling paralysis upon me. Not by authority, for she had none, but by the mere power of her words, a power that dictated my future. A prophecy, rather than a sentence.

And in a way, a prophecy is all the worse. You cannot argue prophecy. You cannot change prophecy. It is inevitable, unchanging, a truth.

But it was the first time in my life that I recognized that paralysis. It was not the first time I felt it, and I likened myself for a playful moment to an immigrant, fighting for his right to live and breathe in a place without torture and war. An immigrant being handed prophecy, not sentence, with rational reasoning and rational people behind it. But rational and compassionate are not at all synonymous or compatible, at times.

But of course it is much worse for the immigrant. Such as yesterday’s event, where a family (a mother, father, and their two young children) poured gasoline over themselves and threatened to put themselves on fire due to the decision to deport them back to their native country (noone was hurt).

In my case, it was merely a matter of whether my current plans were going to happen or not. It looks like I will have a rough time ahead of me during the next half year, but that’s about it. I hate breaking a promise, especially one made to myself, and I do not intend to break this one.