Everything Else Is Rubble
The administrative office in front of the main building. In this age of endless information, I sometimes pause and realize something strange. I am drowning in information, but starving for memories. Every day, my mind absorbs hundreds of headlines, messages, videos, opinions, and notifications. Most of them vanish without a trace. Yet when I stop for a moment, memories from forty years ago return with astonishing clarity. Today, for some reason, my thoughts wandered back to my school and its teachers. I remember my kindergarten teacher, Ms. Carol at Little Angels. She was Anglo-Indian, impeccably dressed, and absolutely determined that every letter I wrote should sit neatly within the four lines of my notebook. Not touching the ceiling. Not falling through the floor. Perfectly contained. I don't remember what I had for lunch three days ago. But I remember those four lines. My first-grade teacher, Ms. Alice at BP Indian Public School, was...
It was an unwarranted action by the host to unveil the contents of one door. If you are an optimist, you would go ahead with opening the door of your original choice ,a pessimist, you would open the other door. For me it matters what you do, because people will always keep springing surprises on you, but you have got to keep going, believe in yourself, and believe that you are destined to succeed. There is always a door open for the eternal optimist.
ReplyDeleteProbability increased from 33% to 50%. Its like tossing a coin in air.
ReplyDeleteYou live with your call. I stick with the first one. If I get hay in that,
I would probably sell it to a farmer and get make a burger out of it :-)
Dude, Smitha and her hubby Suhas visited this weekend from Wwashington.
Had loads of fun together.