Open to interpretation.

It is an eerily quiet evening. Thick clouds lay across the Mediterranean, cloaking the coast of Africa as the sun casts the sky in bright red and pink.

I feel a certain sense of unrest as the quiet becomes like a clogging presence on my senses and make me climb up the hill to look out over the valley, stretching down below straight to the shores of the pale gray sea.

The city is smog-covered, but still the air all around is crisp with a late autumn chill that penetrates my warm woolen vest that falls down to mid-shin. Around me the dogs move restlessly. They too sense that something is off, and utter an occasional whine when my eyes settle on a particularly dark patch within the clouds across the body of water in the south.

Suddenly, a blinding flash of lightning, or perhaps an explosion of sorts, bursts from within the threatening mass of black that suddenly rumbles and roars as the large gathering of heavy clouds surge forward, over-casting the sea with a gloomy shadow that hides the last remnants of the low beams of sunlight coming from the west.

I jump at the sound, backing off involuntarily as the dogs around me squeak in alarm and start running every which way. Another flash, this one bigger and longer than the first, breaks apart the rolling, violently moving mass, spreading out, heading towards the shore like some horror movie.
Blinking vigorously against the glare of light that seems to come from within the center of the tear-like zigzag I see widening right before my very eyes, I take but a moment before I gather my wits and dogs alike and hurry towards the house.

Stumbling down the uneven path, I see dark fluttering movements from my right, thinking, 'this can't be real' even as shapes burst forth from the light, flying -yes, flying, indeed- straight towards the shore, and inevitably our mountain.
Just as one of the glimmering shadows reaches the property, I slam the gate of the courtyard shut, frantically looking around to see if all the dogs are there and exclaim a sigh of mild relief when I watch the lot flee into the house.

Another roar shakes the ground under my feet, my balance challenged almost beyond managing, as powerful flapping overhead announces the presence of more of the... the living things gather over the property.
The sounds they make are deafening, making my ears hurt as I carefully -but as fast as possible- make my way to the door, where the dogs are barking like mad at the creatures that swoop down every so often, blowing fierce gusts of wind through the covered courtyard.

Desperately, I call out alarm to the rest of the family, grabbing the door post for balance when I find the main room of the house empty of any living creature except my own personal pack of dogs.
Overhead wooden boards that make up the ceiling, crack with a terrible sound of something heavy hitting it full force from straight above.
All around the walls begin to break, painted stucco changing into a mosaic of cracks while I dodge to the side, just when part of the ceiling comes crashing down.

I scream for the sibs and my mom, my voice not strong enough to overcome the now constant roar of what can only be mighty creatures swirling madly outside the house, slamming against the walls and roof we built so many years ago with so much diligence.

Skidding over rubble and splintered wood as above me the last remnant of the day's light falls inside through a large hole that was slammed through the roof. It gapes frighteningly as the walls that supported that part of the ceiling begin to crumble even more.

Calling out to my dogs, who miraculously actually listen, and obey, I stumble my way towards the corridor, diving into it when the first floor comes crashing down with a lot of noise, bringing with it a choking cloud of dust and sand as I elbow myself further into the narrow passage, squeezing my eyes tightly shut.

Somehow I know that little sister is upstairs in the tower, and no matter what -preferably before the patio roof comes down, too- I need to get there. Barely finding purchase on the debris littered tiles, I scrape my knee on a sharp edge sticking out of the wall to my left. Somehow one of the second floor wooden support beams has slammed straight through the wall, obstructing my way enough to make me climb over it, lest I be caught within the crumbling confines.

With the dogs pressing close to me, hindering my way even more, I manage to squeeze out into the patio when another violent collision with the eastern wall of the house makes the floor beneath my feet shake dangerously.
The water main has burst inside the courtyard, composting leaves raining down on the deep blue tiles and making them dangerously slippery as I mount the stairs for what seems to be an eternity.

Upstairs I hear a child cry, and I increase my efforts to climb up the steps that appear to crumble beneath my feet. The banister gives way when I grab hold, the moment everything around me shakes again and again, the sheer rock wall on my right breaking violently apart when the corrugated aluminum roof overhead is torn away with enough force to make me slam face down on the steps.

One of the dogs squeals frightfully, but a glance in old Bommel's direction shows him prancing agilely away from one of the steel supporters that came crushing down and he hurries after the others and me.
My ribs hurt, and my lower lip bleeds steadily, since the latest fall has made me bite through the soft tissue. Still, much to my own surprise, I manage to scramble to my feet once again and make it up the final steps leading to the tower.

The door, leading into the bedroom there, is closed when I reach it. The handle not budging under my shaking hands as a violent stream of stuttering wind beats at my back from where the patio roof once was.

"Tess!" I scream over the roaring sound of wind and moving creatures alike, throwing my full weight against the door time and again until it finally, and suddenly, it gives way, making me stumble into the room and come to a skidding halt when the southern wall that is no longer there makes the door swing in the open air.

I gasp at the destruction before me, remnants of the wall like battlements on some ancient castle while I slowly turn my head to the right where I know little sister's bed is supposed to be. There, some of the wall and ceiling are still intact, casting a gloomy crevice in the distant glow of the sun that has lowered down to sea level.

At first I see nothing within the darkness, until at last the scared pale face of little sister becomes apparent from behind a tilted wardrobe. The six-year-old's eyes are watery with tears and her face is smeared with dust and dirt alike when I stumble in her direction muttering something about everything being alright and for her to come to me.

Support beams lay in disarray across the distance that still separates us, but with some effort I reach her at last and lift her onto my hip... as I feel frantically for damage on her young and fragile body.
The fierce growls and howls of the dogs make me spin on my heel to stare open-mouthed when suddenly a large threatening shape appears right there, floating... flying in front of where the wall had once circled the tower room.

It is huge: Shimmering scales covering a chest that is twice the size of my body, as gigantic wings spread out for a good twenty feet in both directions.
They flap sluggishly and a large intricately shaped head moves this way and that on a thick, yet snake-like, neck. Long tendrils protrude from arching cheekbones and pointed ears alike, as a tuft of what appear to be deep red and blue scales, dangles elegantly from a viciously toothed snout. Unlike hair, the tendrils defy gravity, moving almost separately from what I now recognize as a real live Dragon, right there, before my incredulous eyes.

Clasping little sister to my chest, I watch in mute horror as Amri bravely charges the flying beast, squealing when one mighty paw lashes out and sweeps him off his, until he comes to a thudding halt against a jumble of beams. He is momentarily dazed, but then shakes it off and backs into my legs as he continues his role as fierce protector.

I am unable to move at the sight before me, my other dogs bravely gathering around me, fighting their own fear as they try to keep their distance of the beast that continues to watch us from where it keeps itself suspended right on the edge of the demolished tower.
It's eyes are large, sparkling with what appears to be interest when from behind an earth-shaking rumble breaks apart the last remaining wall.

Another Dragon comes into sight, mighty wings flapping noisily as brick and wood crumble around the dogs, little sister and me, before it settles on a perch just beyond what was the tower room, leaving nothing but the half-moon shape, littered with debris... and us.

Wind tugs at our clothes as we stand there, high above the ground, as more and more Dragons gather around us, their scales shimmering in the final beams of sunlight just as the orb disappears for the night behind the distant horizon.

Darkness falls with menacing speed and just as the first Dragon tentatively moves closer, its hot breath brushing me from top to bottom... I wake up.

Another friggin' dream.
Yes, it was scary, and I'm slightly breathless as I stare numbly up at the turquoise wooden planks that make up the ceiling of my cabin, but still... it would have been a marvelous adventure if it had been for real. Hah.

I grimace at the sound of Knight II and Trin Trin rough housing by the side of the bed, tugging playfully at the quilt that covers me. Chaos is right beside me; lazily opening his eyes while he perks at the realization that I'm finally awake.

Knowing that returning to the dream, in hopes of finishing the story (I always want to finish these dreams, since they make for wonderful books someday) is futile I reluctantly roll out of bed, instead.

Dried laundry needs to be folded by the time I get down to the house, but no new batch is waiting, much to my delight.
Since exercising won't have to be done until tomorrow, I decide to divert from the usual schedule a bit and make up on some house cleaning instead.
After an hour's stint with the duster and broom, and hosing down our collection of fake plants that have become so dusty over the past few months that no more colors are visible, I settle behind the computer, as I do every day, to start on yet another editing session for the Chronicles of the Asthah-Mahk, part one.

Though little can compare to dreams such as I experienced during the night, I do manage to clean up and improve a good eighteen pages before big brother and I need to head up the mountain and start on some repairs for our friend's place that needs to be ready before the end of the month.

By the time we return a meal is waiting. Dinner consists of Pasta with fresh tomato sauce, created by little brother, who makes the best darn sauces when he puts his mind to it... like he did to today.
I'm most pleased with dinner awaiting for us, since I wasn't looking forward to having to cook at all, after finishing the day's repairs up in the bungalow.

Oddly enough my stomach is very upset again today, so for a good hour after dinner I refrain from as much movement as possible to prevent the food from coming out again.
Since the Closer and Criminal Intent are on TV I don't mind all that much, and enjoy the day's shows before my stomach finally settles and I set myself to the task of painting six more drawers that will, some day, be built into the kitchen we're in the midst of designing.

By the time I clean up, have a smoke just to treat myself after a job well done, it is time to go to my cabin and prepare for the night.
Once there, and ready to settle in for a couple of hours on the net, I realize that I have forgotten my mobile connection to the Internet and hurry back to the house to search for the dratted little device that I know the dogs can shatter into pieces in less than a minute.
With the siblings' help we comb the house from top to bottom, as I despair over the loss of the necessary device that is nowhere to be found.

On the one and only occasion that I forget to put it back in my bag after use, it has somehow come down from it's niche six feet above ground, and appears to have disappeared into the stomach of some chew-happy canine.

I am literally close to tears when younger sister and I even go as far as searching outside in the dark with only a small flashlight to aid us... but it is nowhere to be found.
Just when I'm about to resign myself to several days of agony without any connection to the Net, a call from the house informs me that the device has been found, intact and safe.
Mom had located it while big brother and I were at work in the bungalow, and safely tucked it away in her own computer bag, lest the thing I dreaded most happened.

Relieved I finally connect to the Internet and start my nightly ritual of surfing into cyber world.

Some thoughts... and more.

Hmmm. It wasn't what I'd call a good day, though I wasn't entirely useless, either. Feeling useless would have made it worse, I'm thinking.

So here's today:

The sun is bright and shiny again when I wake, which should be a good incentive for me to feel moderately well at least... but it isn't. I’m moody, quiet and most of all tired. I hate feeling tired, especially when there is no good reason for it. I have had my share of sleep this night, and it should have sufficed to guarantee at least a semblance of a good mood. No such luck, though.

There were dreams, if I recall correctly, a jumble of "could-be-real" events and images that confuse the heck out of me when I wake up and exclaim a pained grunt when Trin Trin practically drags me off the bed in her eagerness to start the day.

After I lock the monster boxer into the small back yard behind my cabin and release the rest of the dog into the garden, I manage to get in a full fifteen minutes of reading into Elfhunter, a rather charming book that is at present keeping me entertained.

Getting dressed admittedly isn't an easy task today; Knight II is in a particularly cheerful mood for some reason, almost knocking me over several times. The big lug simply doesn't seem to understand that his 110 pounds are not designed for jumping at his toy... me in this case. He's learning though, however slowly.

Dax watches him from the safety of the bed, his expression a little weary since the pocket Beagle has been on the receiving end of being caught in the midst of Knight's bouncing often enough, and seems to silently laugh at me for struggling into my clothes.

Exercise day has arrived once more, and though I don't feel like it at all, I struggle through, just barely. What with the weather having warmed ever so slightly perspiration is dripping liberally off my nose at the end, making me feel somewhat pleased that the effort isn't for nothing.

Laundry's next. Yesterday's batch nice and dry, allowing for plenty of space for the new, as I try to divert my attention between the clothes and Knight, who seems to find it humorous to grab any given item I try to hang, and tugs it away. It isn’t until I tug at his leash several times that he finally calms down enough to just sit down and watch me with those big brown eyes of his.

Breakfast is a quick cut and smear by the sink and me stuffing my face while heading for the coffee machine and the vagrant coffee, big brother has just prepared.

I make my usual course across the messages and forums, my eyes half-stock once again -I don't know what the heck is wrong with me, but for the past few days, half-stock seems to be inevitable- and finally resume my foray into the alien world of the Ashtah-Mahk.

Only a couple of pages get written, my level of focus down to sixty percent at most. I'm dawdling with the story, I know, it is a most annoying time when I'm trying to create a bridge of momentary peace in a manuscript, before the action takes over once again.

My head is flighty today, for some reason. Not a single thought -except for those I don’t want to have- sticking long enough for closer examination. I hate it when that happens. It removes my drive and makes me think that everything I write down is bloody awful.

I yawn myself sore today, that's a fact. And by the time the dogs are fed and yesterday's stir-fry is reheated for consumption, I'm so tired, I nod off in my chair again.
Feeling remarkably better after maybe an hour of dreamless sleep, I surmise that my state of mind might very well be a result of doing too much, these past few months. Pressure of responsibilities, chores and projects, just getting to be too demanding for a bit.

”The Day After Tomorrow” is on TV tonight. Though I don't particularly "like" the movie, I do find the idea of it intriguing. It always makes me wonder about the numerous reports I've read and heard over the years, concerning our environment, and how the scientific predictions made in the past, turn out to be much sooner than claimed.

By this time I'm of the opinion that when such scientist claim that some drastic change is going to occur at the end of the century or within fifty years, that number can easily be cut down to at least a third of that time span.

Though I know it isn't a laughing matter, what with natural disasters all over the globe, it IS rather funny, in an unfunny sort of way.
In commercials and adds, consumers are being educated about how they can save energy and natural recourses, while cities grow constantly, lighting up streets that haven't been build yet and practically deserted areas, wasting that precious energy for no other reason than esthetics, while the average consumer should turn off the lights in rooms that aren't being used.

Take the valley below our mountain, for instance. What with the economy having bloomed for many years, streets were made with lanterns placed for miles into intricate patterns, dotting the hills with lights at night, and for what? Prettiness?
And then they say a 40-watt light bulb is going to make a difference?
Seriously, if it weren't so damn sad, it would crack me up.

But enough about this subject, it depresses me to think about stupidity such as this.

When nothing of interest is to be seen on any of the numerous channels that enrich our TV, the sibs and I decide to put on Michael Bay's "The Island" for our viewing pleasure. Not much liking the idea of just sitting there, wasting time, I take out the paint roller and prime the two drawers that still await treatment.

Whenever my mind is as fuzzy as it appears to be these days, I find keeping myself busy is the best way to fight it... even when gathering up the energy to actually do something seems a barely surmountable effort... and feel quite pleased when I declare the two done and clean up to start preparing to go to my cabin for the night.

First I need to give Trin Trin her injection, though.
Leishmania (aka sandfly) reared its ugly head again several months ago, so now she is going through her second course of the treatment that consists of an injection every other day, along with a daily pill.

While I take the monster boxer into a headlock one of the sibs quickly injects the stuff into her skin, leaving Trin Trin jubilant by the time we get to my place and disperse dry dog food for my fickle pack. For some reason they don’t eat well enough while the rest of the dogs are being fed, so this little extra is part of the daily routine for me as much as my dogs.
Already, after only one course and half of Trin Trin’s treatment, her skin is starting to look better. The shine on her fur is returning, and the small, infected areas all over her body are disappearing.

Leishmania is a big problem for animals over here. A nasty virus spread by mosquitoes, and the cause of numerous diseases for pets since it damages the immune system rather badly. I personally have four dogs with the virus, but on the total of our pack of almost a hundred, at least fifteen dogs suffer from it, needing frequent medication that keeps the problems in check rather than cure it completely.

They cope, though, staying in our presence happy as you please. As long as the medicines work and the disease does not take over, we manage to deal with it well enough.

As usual the day has come to an end, the wind rolling down the mountain like powerful waves that blow against my cabin, and I'm still relatively early, allowing for perhaps a few hours more sleep, and hopefully a better day tomorrow.

Writing VS Gardening and... stuff.

The day arrives bright and shiny once again. On days such as these I remember why we went to live in Spain, since it are days such as this one that bring out all the advantages and make me remember how horribly dark and wet the winters of my childhood were, and how beautifully bright they are here.

Though always eager to go outside, the dog obviously love good weather and it is visible as I see them bounce off the porch, heading towards freedom while yapping noisily.
Today my eyes don't cooperate again, the lids heavy with sleepiness as I stretch and yawn in hopes of putting some life in my tired limbs and head that is simply too fuzzy for coherent thought.

A glance around my cabin shows me that I really should be doing some cleaning, but I decide to go to the house instead and leave cleaning up 'till later on.
Once in the coutryard, it becomes clear that more laundry needs to be put up -younger sister's doing, really, and I'm not entirely certain whether I appreciate the washed laundry waiting for me at least five times a week, hah- and dry needs to be taken down for folding.

Since today is a rest day, for as far as exercise is concerned, I get to the chores immediately, rather than postpone... and inevitably forget it. It isn't as bad as I always fear it is, though, and less than an hour later I once more settle behind my computer with a coffee beside me and a cigarette in hand.

Focusing still is no easy task, but after some chats on my regular forums, I feel bolstered enough to open the Sci-Fi file and get to work. Though the spirits of inspiration aren't as generous today as they were yesterday, I manage a solid two pages while still interacting with big brother about the proof-reading he's doing for part one of the series. Some inconsistencies are going to need my attention for sure, but still, he complains less than I'd anticipated when knowing that I had never edited this particular story yet.

The working title breaks it up for him... just like it does me, every time I work on it.
When I started writing this particular tale, I couldn't decide on a name for the alien species that are the protagonists of the story, but after some intense discussion a perfect name is decided upon at long last
Ashtah-Mahk. The beings of the source of Ashtah, warriors by nature and refugees by fate. It suits! The title is going to be wonderful with this name. Catchier, I'm thinking, more intense.

The Chronicles of the Ashtah-Mahk:
Escape
by
Samaya Young

Yes, that'll work well with the story and its multitude of characters. Already I see the story become less abstract, if for no other reason than that there is power in these words. "The Berillians" really didn't fit and it has been a working title for years, just because I couldn't come up with a proper name for these wonderful people that needed something to give them "body".

The sequel is coming along nicely now, and for a moment I actually regret having to put aside writing in favor of going out to finally plant the trees and vines we bought last month. With the pack howling and barking all around, the family and I head into the garden, gathering tools and plants alike as we look at the rock face in front of which the yearling Eucalypts are supposed to be placed.

To our delight the ground is moist from the deluges that we've been forced to endure for the past few week, allowing for easy digging, as rich soil has gathered into a thick dark layer against the gray rock. Perfect for the young trees that look somewhat pathetic right now, but will grow fast and strong within just a few years- the way all the other trees we planted over the years have done.

While big brother starts to dig, little brother and I haul rocks towards the intended places, circling the newly dug holes so that when summer arrives and the trees need water, they'll have some storage place that'll see them through the dryest days.

What with hauling rocks and digging a large hole for the remainder of the four trees personally, I decide that I have had my exercise of the day anyway, giving a certain feeling of accomplishment when we finish and look at what we've done. The four trees sway gently in the wind that has started to drop down from the north, the sun a bright orb just behind the mountain which will hide it's final descend in just minutes.

A jasmine vine now sires the side of my cabin, too, while Honeysuckle will be allowed to twine into the fence surrounding the carport. Except for five Yucas still awaiting planting, we are done for the day and head into the house with the dogs streaming around us like a river of fur.

Time for dinner has arrived, and after examining the ever decreasing supplies, I decide to make stirr fried veggies mixed with noodles that'll make up for a nice Asian dish.

The thing I love about Asian cooking is the fact that it is easy and fast, while still nourishing the body and filling the stomach. With the vegetables still crisp, the spices just perfect it makes for an excellent meal... or it would have if my stomach didn't object halfway through my serving, hah.

As the evening draws on, the dogs are fed and quietly snoozing in front of the gas heaters exhausted from their noisy jaunt into the yard, my own eyes start to droop once again. What with big brother working on the Asthah-Mahk manuscript and a rerun of House on the TV, I decide to close my eyes for a bit... only to wake up in the chair I picked, with Mosha, the sweetpea cocker, in my lap and my left arm sleeping painfully by the time I rouse myself enough to watch Medical Examiners (aka, Crossing Jordan). The show has become better as time past, but also lost something of its intensity, I think. Sometimes it is downright comical... and not in a good way.

The rest of the evening is spent splitting my attention between the dogs, the lousy shows that continue play on the TV and discussing the book with big brother. He's almost halfway through in just two days, so soon we'll be able to start sending it out to a publisher.

I am actually relieved when midnight passes and it is time for me to go to my cabin. I am weary, and even now my eyes continue to droop, while I'm writing this down.

A quick sweep of the floors with the broom is all I manage to muster the energy for, before I settle on the bed for a quick write and some messages.

The day has come to an end, and I'm glad for it. Tomorrow will arrive soon enough.

Thoughts. What else?

The day started bright and shiny, the sun having chased away the seemingly perpetual clouds that have hung over our mountain for the past week, and giving a vibrant glitter to everything around me when I wake up and let the dogs out.

They are exulting from the sudden change in weather, and for a while Chaos, the Basset, actually settles in a warm patch on my porch, enjoying the downpour of light.
The other dogs rough house about a bit, with Bommel my senior Bobtail watching lazily from the open door until I am finally ready to go down to the main house.

Though I am still somewhat tired, the complete exhaustion of yesterday has disappeared, leaving me actually cheered with the thought of my upcoming exercise for today. My muscles feel sore from the day before yesterday, but warming up I can feel the blood starting to pump through my veins, easing most of the tension that has settled in after the last time.

My usual selection of music gets turned up. The latest Enrique tunes do marvelous for a proper rhythm to bounce around on and pounce the boxing bag.
Forty minutes later, two-hundred, forty kicks, endless slides followed by crunches and push-ups ready done, I'm sweating like mad and hurry towards the shower to warm my skin and wash off the day's perspiration.

What follows is taking down and hanging an enormous amount of laundry, which has piled up during the past few days of incessant rain. It's a pleasant day for laundry, though. The sun shining through the openings of the courtyard roof and a gentle breeze playing with the few remaining leaves that still crown the battered trees all around. The fresh scent of clean nature is invigorating

I feel inspired when big brother comes down and decides to start working on my Sci-Fi Fantasy "Escape" with more enthusiasm than I'd anticipated. He's actually so pleased with the story that I decide to continue working on the sequel of this alien species fighting for survival in the wide galaxy, rather than pour myself into more editing, as was planned.

I manage a wonderful total of four pages in just a few hours, giving me a certain sense of accomplishment, the way successful writing always does. But enough about my day, more important things have occurred on this early October date, and for a moment I want to ponder it and see where my thoughts will lead me.

Apparently it was a historical day today. The first black (well, half black anyways) president in the United States was elected and from what I understand the world cheers.
I don't really understand the fuss, in all honesty. He is human, nonetheless, and to be so exultant about the matter just because of the color of his skin seems to be somewhat... hypocritical, is the word I'm looking for, I think, when it really comes across as yet another form of discrimination, neatly wrapped in the beautiful blanket of "look how civilized Western society has become. We even have a black (half) president now."

The man could have had a purple skin for all I'm concerned if I could somehow make myself believe that he could actually go beyond human nature. Since this is unlikely, if not impossible, things will pretty much continue the way they are, if for no other reason than that human nature will always win.

But anyways, if I were to believe the news reports, the headlines and the rather exultant exclamations all over the Net, TV and whatnot, I would think that the new Messiah had arrived. And that now, that this young man, this politician, is Finally going to SAVE the world from Armageddon... or something like that.

For a moment there, while watching the cheer going on, I had to go check outside if the animals of myths and legends had sprung forth and were now roaming around creating a utopia of a world for us all.
I came back sorely disappointed. Everything looked exactly the same as it had in the days weeks and months that preceded this "glorious" day.

Whatever happened to the general belief that politicians lie, cheat and pretty much sell their souls to get elected? From what I have seen over the years in movies, media reports and the likes, politicians always rate somewhere deep down the "admirable" ladder, right alongside lawyers and car salesmen.

I've followed the entire hoopla somewhat over the months that have passed, and to actually live up to the promises made is pretty much impossible... if not unrealistic. Even if everyone gave up all of their hard earned money to taxes, in time things would be just as miserable, if not more so, in short time.

A recent study in Germany has shown that if all citizens of the world, or even the majority of it, live in relative comfort, with a quality that the average hard working citizen is used to, an entire different planet would be necessary just to be able to supply all that is needed for such a feat. Since this is highly unlikely to occur in our lifetime, and even that of our children and children's children, it is a goal that is pretty much unattainable.

It worries me somewhat that in all the excitement going on -of a new government coming to the rescue by giving the people all they need whether they be rich or poor- everyone seems to forget that socialism and even liberalism (which advocate this noble cause) aren't as successful as the optimistic folks would like to believe.

Take China, the Soviet Union, Cuba and even Korea, their communism stems from the same ideal, and yet the majority of the people suffer constantly under the guidance of a wealthy elite, with no chance of ever achieving more than what they are allowed to do.
It is a beautiful thought, but in reality only the new elite actually benefit from such a government. It starts out marvelously, money pouring into places where admittedly it is very much needed, but at some point that particular resource of taking more from the rich and giving it to the poor, depletes that spring of a very convenient well.
Thus it has always been, and this time won't be any different, I fear.

I know, liberalism and socialism (even communism) are considered two different things entirely by most, but they're really not that far apart.

I come from a country that is often heralded for it's liberal and tolerant society, but with some dread I have been observing the ongoings over there, seeing a country that did so well at the start, struggle miserably as more and more of their own traditions, culture and way of life is being sacrificed in favor of tolerance towards those who want to change it to fit their own needs.

Though I am not at all conservative by nature, I do see the use of it at times.
Conservatives set borders and are willing to defend that border against all cost to preserve their identity against those who would see it destroyed.
Liberals, or socialists if you will, don't set ANY borders. Anyone and anything is free to do as they will because no one is willing to stand up for what they believe in any more.

Admittedly there are downsides to both extremes. Conservatives tend to be overzealous in their religions and traditions, while the socialists/liberals are vastly lacking in both, believing in very little except for tolerance and equality for all.

Now don't get me wrong, I am not saying that we are not equal, and should not be basically treated as such, but in "flatlining" everything and everyone under the "rule" of equality is killing that what would make people extraordinary.

It's something like the phrase "You're special, just like the rest of us". It takes something away from the specialness we all admired so much in the past, and that is a sad thing. In this day and age being an individual, extraordinary and "special" is just another way of equalizing everything into just ordinary, until in the end anything that does not fit into a particular box is eradicated.

But I drift off the issue. As I was saying; it scares me to see how much hope is being placed in just a single man who, even if he were Superman, could never live up to all the expectations that are put on him and those that are chosen to lead such a powerful country for next four years.

He brings hope, or so I've heard on numerous occasions. Which confuses me, since this is considered to be something marvelous.

I am well aware that hope is considered to be important and basically there to sustain us through difficult times, but hope -I often think- is a sneaky thing. Hope is an inanimate, a non-active, element that really doesn't do much of anything, except give the illusion that something might change in the future.
Hope does not make a person DO anything, since hope leaves it all up to fate and does not make anyone put in an effort, when effort and dedication is that which makes any of us achieve something.
Added to that, hope can be just as easily taken away as it is given, making it rather unreliable in my estimation.

For some reason change seems to have been a big part of the political agenda too, and I wonder about it. Change was what happened when 9/11 occurred, didn't it'. The war in Iraq was change, too. The melting poles, global warming, the latest fashion trend, all those events, occurrences and trends are a constant overflow of change that no one can stop of curb. They are a very basic cause and effect, making the world around us a badly balanced scale on any given day.

Change happens every single day, but it is either ignored, cheered or despised. In the end no one really appears to like change at all and what with this latest election, I fear that those who wanted it, are actually going to get it in spades.
The only question remains; will that change be welcomed, or hated by the time the elation has settled and reality starts to make its expensive demands once more.

Only time will tell, I guess. Perhaps this new president will be grand, and perhaps he'll be as ineffective as those who went before him. The demand for a new hope will most certainly be tested through the passing of time, as change is rolling across the globe even now.

Will hope really change the course that has been set?

Let's hope so.