I struggle all right. The incessant threat of my words to spill out of my eyes never ceases. I have worn my heart on sleeve. They told me I needed to sew it back to its rightful place. I refused. They then told me to put it in a steel cage and bury it along the coast of Normandy. I refused yet again. 

They mocked me for my resilience. I fought the urge to fight back. I fought with all I had a war I couldn’t win. They asked me to bring a jar with me. They then took me to the Sahara desert and asked me to put every single grain of sand in that jar. Would you believe me when I told you I did my best to do so? Well I did. I started with both fists, hoping it would hurry the process. Then as the jar started filling, I used one to put the sand in while the other to level it. I wanted to put in as much as I could in the jar. Then I started choosing just the grains that looked shinier than others. But I just couldn’t put the entire desert in a jar. 

I wanted to ask for another jar. For many other jars. But it wouldn’t have been fair. There was a queue of people behind me, all holding empty jars. They wanted to accomplish what I hadn’t, knowing against all rationales they couldn’t. I wanted to scream. You just can’t put the damn desert in the jar. But would they listen? Would you?