I hate throwing up...

I hate throwing up. I truly, madly, deeply hate the process of throwing up. Especially if it means to wait while the bile rises enough to not to just make you sick but actually throwing out contents of your body. I hate that wait most and the sudden outburst of my stomach, that is, if it decides that the torture of being in the middle of somewhere of my body is enough now and it’s time to break up and get out of me, out of my system.

And who on earth write about throwing up anyway?!

But still, I hate the wait. I hate the feeling of being in between. It’s not just my bile; it’s my entire life, my relationships, my career, anything. I just don't do very well with waiting. It sickens me enough that in the end all I want is to get out of the wait, even if it means losing what I am waiting for and it always brings me down to one question; when do we know it’s enough?

When do we know we have gone far enough and should turn back now? What if we are giving up when we are way too close to the final outcome? When do we know whatever we have done is enough? When is it right to turn it down? When is it okay to give up?

And no matter how much and how long I have questioned this, I have never came to a definite answer. My experience with it has brought me more questions. Is waiting for weak or stronger? And I can very well justify it from both sides. Waiting needs persistence, discipline, and courage and giving up, it needs same too. Whichever way you choose, qualities that you need may remain same but your choices are different. And then once again, it all comes down to choices.

Though, we get sick and may be hate it, we never give up eating for the fear of throwing up, or stop walking once we break our leg, then why do we stop living or loving [or writing, in my case].