關於愛，我是個小學生。

Recently I was upset about my girlfriend for her lousy reaction to my words, which seemingly indicated that there was absolutely no consensus between us, along with her stubborn tantrum, through which I wondered if I could bear such an embarrassing situation for how long. I thought I was the very guy who had the least luck to get days by. Not like others, having wonderful flirting with their loving mates, living sans suci, and a lot of leisure time, which is to me the most precious of all. I couldn't help but ask the Lord whether it should be a test or training He's supposed to teach me as a recruit and grill Him bitterly how long I had to endure so many hurdles ahead since I was in no case Byron Johnson or some other big shot like this.

The answer was negative. The Lord asked me not, neither to compensate what I had rudely done, as well as miserably, for the past days, nor to rebuke me for how unredeemable I was as a totally loser and sinner. He taught me math instead. Math? Yep. Believe me. He just did nothing but to bid me, smilingly, to count what I had and have: was I born in this wonderful world but for His permit? How could I make such a lot of fortune without getting into big touble and losing my soul regardless of His dissuasion? Was my girl bad? Then who else could keep such innocence and purity appealing to me most? How many lonely guys are there still on earth looking desperately for their Mr. and Mrs. Right? How did I feel to be much smarter and more thoughtfully profound in knowledge and studying while there were countless people true to form? What and how much unforgivable have I done and was anyhow all forgiven by Him? Just count, He urged me gently, and thus I would realize how damned lucky I was beneath His arms despite of what a bastard I was, and, of course, I still am. He is surely the greatest teacher ever, with incredible patience and hope. I counted and counted, surprisingly to admit the number was too huge a behemoth to be conquered.

The sum? 8, but crawling.