It’s not enough, never.
You don’t have enough sleep. You don’t have enough dreams. You don’t have enough time to get your wits back before making an imperfect cup o’ joe. ‘Cause there’s not enough sugar even though you thought there should be. But you’re wrong and you discover that a split second after you sip it. Not cool enough. You burn your tongue and the roof of your mouth.
An automatic chewing machine, you go through the mediocre breakfast lacking in salt. Take a shower. Look at the mirror. Not enough muscles but more than enough muffin top. Definitely not enough hair at parts you would appreciate it growing, more than enough at the rest. Shaving will have to be put off for another month or two to the inconvenience of some people.
God there are so many cars, rusty and new on the streets and highways, but somehow, you just can’t get a decent ride to the office. The train doesn’t have enough space but it’s overflowing with acrid human juice. The bus doesn’t have a seat for you but it’s got a lot of rattle to make you puke your mediocre breakfast out. Continue reading
At some point in his life, a person may stumble upon the erroneous conclusion about himself that he is awesome. He believes it for the rest of his life.
To put on a show for other people — one must be really bored with himself when he’s all alone.
An egg breaks when you drop it. A man bleeds when you stab him. A baby stops crying when you feed her. So where’s the need for superstition?
We just hate it when someone speaks for our thoughts more clearly than how we would have done it. Makes us feel all dumb and silent.
A man who searches for hidden things is a desperate man. Continue reading
It’s the eve of my birthday. I was just 6 months old when I was born. Had I been born normally, my birthday would be on November instead of August. I wouldn’t have been Leo. Maybe I wouldn’t have that lion pride in me. Maybe I wouldn’t have been Marvin. Maybe…
Whatever. Continue reading
Friday is the most unusual of all the days of the week. It is the penultimate day before the weekend. Everything ends on a Friday: the rush, the frustrations, the expectations, the wickedness of work. They end, at least temporarily, on a Friday.
Friday is neither part of the work week nor the weekend. It is somewhere in between. This is probably the reason why we feel so lethargic when Friday comes. It’s like we’re working while tasting the sweetness of the weekend at the tip of our tongue. The day is a transition from here to there, from files to TV marathons, from coffee to beer, from the office to the park, from our stiff work clothes to our loose outdoor clothes, from pain to pleasure, from colleagues to family. We’re working while we’re heading home on a Friday. We’re being slaves to our bosses while we’re setting ourselves free on this very unique day. In a way, everything ends and starts on a Friday. Continue reading