Amit Kunnath

Music / Poetry / Short Stories / Essays

On Dignity and Darkness

By

On July 20, 2024

In Blog, Opinion Pieces

Introduction

The concept of human dignity is of paramount importance to society and individuals. Thanks to our ability to recognise our neighbour’s innate worth, we can cooperate with others even when we disagree with them. We do not resort to petty shows of aggression every time a rift occurs between us and someone else. We know how to resolve conflicts without brute force.

And yet, in our world, there is much pain and suffering that is inflicted on people by people. How much fear do we feel towards other people? It is impossible to fully trust another, for we never quite know what they think about us. What they might do to us. We are paralysed from forging deep connections with each other. Such is the extent of the fear we feel towards ourselves.

The concept of human dignity has always existed and has been expressed in a myriad of ways. Catholic Social Teaching is one example of a doctrine rooted in the principle of human dignity. The concept of the atman as the true Self could be interpreted as a metaphysical framework for understanding human dignity. So, too, could the concept of Buddha-nature.

Human dignity is not only a religious or spiritual idea, however. Many political ideas are also rooted in this marvellous concept. Both the left and the right claim to hold the keys to unlocking human potential – where they divide, it seems to me, is whether that human potential is at its most concentrated when expressed collectively or individually. Proponents of such concepts as socialism and capitalism, pacifism and militarism, and rehabilitation and punishment all seem to hold true that humans have an innate dignity. Otherwise, why go to such lengths to demonstrate a particular system as the superior means of government? The ultimate goal of any ideology, I think, is to uplift the dignity of a certain group of people – or all people.

Even those ideologies that posit certain groups as devoid of worth tend to portray another as the epitome of human excellence. As such, even racist and discriminatory ideologies accept the concept of human dignity – but not universal human dignity.

In this essay, I seek to explore the concept of human dignity in relation to human darkness. Both are universal features of the human race. Dignity and darkness transcend race, gender, and even generation. Wars have been fought since Time immemorial. Love has been shown since Time immemorial. I do not think there has ever been a time when a human has not harmed another. I do not think there has ever been a time when a human has not served another. Are dignity and darkness two sides of the same coin? Can we truly say that all individuals have an innate dignity yet are capable of tremendous evil?

The Tendency to Go Astray

Even in our oldest stories, we see the concept of Good vs. Evil. I refer to the creation stories in the Book of Genesis, where we see Eve betraying God to consume the forbidden fruit. I think the snake who tempts Eve symbolises our darker impulses – what Jung called the Shadow. The Genesis creation stories appear to be a fascinating analysis of the individual’s tendency to go astray: A person may engage in immorality if the temptation to do so is strong enough.

Both literal and allegorical interpretations of the Genesis creation stories lead us to the concept of original sin. That is, the idea that many years ago, someone broke a moral code that we shall refer to as the natural law – the rules of conduct that we feel compelled to obey by that strange and elusive construct that we call the conscience. Natural laws are the universal rules for good conduct that transcend culture, geography, and generation.

I find the concept of original sin to be of great interest to this discussion for the following reason: If we accept that the first sin was a choice made by an individual – and not simply an integral part of that individual’s nature – then we must also accept that there was a time before sin. In other words, sinfulness – which I define as including antisocial conduct and breaches of natural law – is not the normal state for humans to be in.

One might argue that this proposition must necessarily be accepted if the concept of human dignity is to hold good. I do not think that this is so. Suppose humans were initially in a sinless state, and an individual action corrupted the human race, preventing us from being unable to sin. How did that individual engage in such unprecedented and seemingly impossible behaviour? How could someone so untainted, clean, and pure be tempted away from their perfection?

Even if we accept that free will exists, which I believe it does, it makes little sense that a person ignorant of impurity could engage in it. Let us assume that perhaps there was a moment of first temptation. In other words, a person who had never had any knowledge of darkness and evil had somehow gained such knowledge. This knowledge then tempted them to engage in impure acts. How would this knowledge have been acquired? I can think of four ways a person could encounter immoral behaviour: by engaging in it themself, by seeing another person engage in it, by reading or hearing about it, and by imagining it.

If a person engages in immorality, they must be aware of it. They might not be aware that the behaviour is, in fact, immoral, but they are aware of the behaviour itself. As such, even if a person does not ascribe moral value or lack thereof to a particular behaviour, doing it means knowing it is possible. As such, it seems that someone unaware of immoral behaviour cannot acquire their first knowledge of such behaviour by engaging in it themselves.

If a person’s first knowledge of immoral behaviour is acquired by seeing another person engage in such behaviour, then the former is not the first to engage in immoral behaviour.

If a person reads or hears about immoral behaviour, then once again, they are obviously not the first person to discover its existence.

And what of imagination? I do not think a perfectly pure and clean person – a paragon of virtue – could imagine anything contrary to their own perfect nature. As such, a pure person’s imagination suddenly turning vicious could not be the first instance of humanity discovering its own tendency for darkness.

As such, I think the claim that humans were once without sin is without substance. How could we have been tempted astray if we were always pure and endlessly kind? The argument that we have free will to do as we please despite our (originally) pure nature (now corrupted by original sin) is unsatisfactory. Who corrupted the person who first engaged in original sin? How did the first impurity arise within the human spirit?

Perhaps one may answer “The Devil” to these questions. This answer does not satisfy me. The Devil, I believe, is a character that we have created to symbolise human darkness and evil. How could a symbol of human darkness tempt a human into sin before humanity had the capacity for darkness in the first place?

Keeping all this in mind, the most likely answer is that our species could always engage in antisocial, harmful, and unneighbourly behaviour. The proposition that the human race was once devoid of these tendencies is an absurdity I refuse to swallow.

The Conflict That Lurks Within

The concept of internal conflict is not a new one. Stories have explored it since Time immemorial, and I doubt there has ever been a human who has not had first-hand experience of it. Internal conflict is a primordial and universal part of the human condition.

Due to its lack of empirical support, Freud’s psychoanalytic theory is no longer seen as an accurate model for human psychology. This essay, however, is neither scientific nor academic, so in composing it, I will not hold myself to the same high standards imposed on academic writers. I do not claim that this essay is anything but an opinion piece – one that, depending on one’s taste, may be poorly written and poorly reasoned – discussing abstract ideas by an unqualified writer – if I can even call myself that. As such, I do not think discussing Freudian psychoanalysis would be out of place in this essay.

It was Freud’s view that the human psyche has an unconscious component. He posited that unconscious desires and impulses are the true drivers of behaviour – something he referred to as the pleasure principle.

According to Freud, the mind consists of the id, ego, and superego. I will give a brief description of each of these components. For a deeper exploration of Freudian psychoanalysis, I encourage you to refer to introductory psychology textbooks, particularly those chapters that focus on personality theory.

The id is made up of our primal desires, particularly those of a sexual or aggressive nature. Many of these desires are repressed and unconscious. The id is not concerned with morality but with the fulfilment of desire. It operates on the pleasure principle.

The superego refers to one’s own conceptions of morality and those imposed on one by one’s parents and society. The superego is concerned with doing what is right. It operates on the morality principle.

It is clear that the interests of the id are incompatible with those of the superego, except in certain group environments where the group spirit causes people to act in ways they otherwise would not. The ego, as such, is the mediator between the id and the superego. The ego manages any conflict between the id and superego and generally does so by keeping such disagreements below conscious awareness. The ego operates on the reality principle.

However, the ego sometimes fails to keep the war within one’s psyche unconscious. It causes us tremendous discomfort when we discover that we are not as morally upstanding as we like to think. It is deeply disconcerting to know that there is a part of us – elusive and seemingly beyond our control – that dictates our actions and causes us to become a slave to pleasure, like the fruit fly’s obsession with sweetness.

It is precisely this phenomenon that makes psychoanalytic theory of interest to the topic I explore in this essay. I interpret the failure of the ego to keep id-superego conflicts below the conscious level as bringing to awareness the tension that exists both in the individual and the collective between innate human dignity and innate human darkness.

Any discussion of human darkness would be incomplete without referring to the Jungian shadow. The shadow is a conceptual framework that helps us understand the unconscious as a sort of hidden personality within us. The shadow is who we truly are but do not want to accept, and the persona is who we seem to be on the surface.

Is human dignity the persona? Is human darkness the shadow? Could it be that human dignity is not innate but simply a means of masking from view the darkness that lies within us? I do not think so.

I struggle to accept that human dignity does not exist in any true sense. If such a proposition were to be accepted, societal rules would collapse. Even if such a proposition is true, I think it ought to be dismissed for the good of society. As such, I will not entertain this idea in this essay. Instead, I will work under the assumption that dignity and darkness are innate features of the human spirit – I shall not challenge these assumptions.

Where does Jung’s shadow fit into all of this? The existence of a shadow side to our nature demonstrates that some aspects of the human spirit, however universal, are not acceptable in certain group environments. Over time, based on the feedback we receive, we repress those aspects of our nature from public view and often obscure such features of our personalities from even our own awareness.

Do individuals derive their dignity from the group, given that it is the group that imposes rules of moral conduct on the individual? I think not. To accept such a proposition would be to imply that the individual is not a sovereign entity with its own rights and responsibilities, and character independent of the group. We can safely dismiss this proposition as nonsense.

I want to refer once again to the Judeo-Christian idea of sin. In particular, the idea that sinful behaviour causes one to destroy one’s relationship with God. I think this idea interprets the conflict between our primal desires and our ideal self-image. We are all created in God’s image and likeness, yet we go astray from time to time. When we do so, we deny one aspect of our nature in favour of another. Catholics, in particular, it seems to me, espouse the view that despite our dignity that stems from being made in the image and likeness of God, we also tend to transgress due to inherited original sin.

While I do not believe there was ever a time when humanity did not sin, I think there is tremendous utility in the idea that the innate tendency to betray our need to act morally is in direct and constant conflict with the innate character of the human soul: one of purity and perfection – dignity. It seems to me that to accept the Judeo-Christian understanding is to endorse the view that darkness – however innate – arises because of specific thoughts and actions and patterns of thoughts and actions over time. Dignity, however, is simply a state of Being that transcends thoughts and actions. I wholeheartedly accept such a proposition, for it recognises that both dignity and darkness are innate characteristics while pointing out that shadows would not exist if not for the light that casts them. Morality is not disregarded; the issue is examined with feeling and spirituality. Such a viewpoint is not arrived at via philosophical or intellectual speculation. It is arrived at through a process of spiritual consideration, not always logical and not rigidly rational. Nonetheless, such a proposition seems to me to offer a superior explanation than that which could be offered by philosophical or scientific inquiry. As such, this less rigidly rational proposition is the one I accept.

Nothing Short of the Fullness of Human Potential

If Jungian and Freudian ideas help to ascertain that darkness is an innate component of human nature, so humanistic psychology can help to ascertain that dignity is an innate component of human nature. Rogers spoke of unconditional positive regard, and Maslow spoke of self-actualisation. Both concepts are of interest to the topic I explore in this essay.

To treat someone with unconditional positive regard is not to place conditions of worth upon their behaviour. In other words, we should refrain from stating or implying that our acceptance of a person is tied to their actions. An example of unconditional positive regard is telling one’s child, “Your behaviour is unacceptable, but I love you no matter what.” An example of conditional positive regard would be to treat a child with love and compassion when she scores highly on exams but with disdain and anger when she does not: scoring highly on exams becomes a condition of worth.

Why is this of relevance to our discussion of innate human dignity and innate human darkness? Because to state that a person’s value is not tied to their actions is to accept that there is a factor besides behaviour – a factor independent of behaviour, in fact – that determines a person’s worth. This factor should not have conditions imposed on its consideration in evaluating a person’s worth; that is, conditions of worth should not be imposed on a person; that is, a person ought to be treated with unconditional positive regard if they are to be able to enact positive change in their life.

In other words, people cannot change their negative behaviours unless their worth is not tied to their actions. This proposition may seem inconsistent, but it illustrates that dignity exists and is innate. The idea that a person’s value remains constant, notwithstanding their negative patterns, is consistent with the idea I discussed: Dignity is a state of Being and transcends thought and even action.

The paradox of unconditional positive regard is that Rogers used it as a psychotherapeutic technique. Psychotherapy generally intends to change a person’s behaviour. Why would unconditional positive regard be a useful technique in changing behaviour? I do not know, but the fact that accepting one’s innately good nature may motivate one to act in a manner more consistent with said nature may have something to do with it.

This leads us to Maslow’s ideas vis-à-vis self-actualisation. The idea is that human beings constantly strive to be their ideal selves. The anguish we feel from time to time stems from an inconsistency between our ideal and actual selves. According to Maslow, life may derive meaning from the journey towards self-actualisation: the journey towards making the most of one’s abilities. In essence, to ensure that one has no unfulfilled talents.

I find it interesting that the existence of the ideal self does not necessitate the acceptance of unconditional worth. This is because the ideal self is something we strive for, not something we are. It is a construct in our minds. The actual self has no value except insofar as it strives to become the ideal self. On the other hand, to say that a person’s worth is not tied to their behaviour is to say that no matter how incongruent their behaviour may be with who they truly are, the latter is indeed something of value.

The idea of self-actualisation seems to represent an economic approach to evaluating one’s worth. In contrast, unconditional positive regard is consistent with innate human dignity. I also think the concept of self-actualisation does not necessitate that human darkness is an innate quality. Unconditional positive regard seems to posit that behaviour will always be inconsistent, to a certain extent, with one’s true self and source of worth. I interpret these inconsistencies to be what I refer to as human darkness, the incongruence between a person’s innate state of Being and a person’s soulless deeds.

Construing these ideas through the lens of the Judeo-Christian concept of sin leads to an interesting conclusion. A person’s soul may be interpreted as the ultimate source of worth; the reason why they should be treated with unconditional positive regard. A person’s behaviours may be incongruent with their nature – such behaviours may be interpreted as sin. Nonetheless, a person’s nature – their soul – has worth in its own right. This worth should not be subject to change because of sinful behaviour. Similarly, the ideal self may be interpreted as a soul, albeit one that cannot truly exist. The actions that prevent the ideal self from emerging in the real world may be interpreted as sin. I think the concept of self-actualisation is quite valuable if we assume that human darkness is innate, as I do in this essay. Likewise, the concept of unconditional positive regard has tremendous utility if one assumes that human dignity is innate.

When we take only from both frameworks what is consistent with my assumptions in this essay, we arrive at this conclusion: A person’s worth is not tied to their behaviour, and their behaviour may be incongruent with their worth. The interplay between a person’s behaviour and worth is why dignity and darkness both exist within humans.

Virtue in Sin

War is a conscious decision made by one group of people to kill another group of people. War typically does not occur due to personal hatred or for the settling of personal scores. War is waged to uphold certain values and structures, so we are told, and as such, to partake in its conduct is honourable and virtuous. This proposition appears inconsistent with most of what we are led to believe, and nonetheless, it is held to be true, I think, by most people in most nations, including me.

Do not kill. This is a foundational commandment imposed on us not only by natural law but by man-made law. To take another’s life is seen as among the most heinous of crimes. To do such a thing leads to ostracization. To be placed behind bars, and once released, to be treated with suspicion by most people. And yet, we seem to view this commandment as meaningless in war.

How does such an inconsistency arise in society? There is both a practical and ideological component to this situation.

From a practical day-to-day perspective, there is a sharp divide between military and civilian life. What is considered acceptable conduct in one is not acceptable in the other. This makes perfect sense. If this divide did not exist, society would likely collapse – indeed, it appears to me that in nations where this divide does not exist as strictly as it does in mine, society does disintegrate into chaos, conflict, and violence. In civilian life, it is paramount that one is agreeable, conflict-averse, open-minded, ideas-based, approachable, peaceful, compassionate, and dignified. One should settle disputes through established structures that do not involve taking life or causing physical or mental harm. In the military, conformity and obedience are necessary for effective conduct, as is the willingness to kill on behalf of an ideal.

There is also a deeper, more ideological foundation to our acceptance of war despite our opposition to taking lives in other contexts. It is because we humans are addicted to the groups we belong to. The group spirit can wash over us and engulf us in tremendously intoxicating levels of emotion. These emotions may be positive or negative, but it seems to me that once a person passes a certain threshold of emotional intensity, they lose their capacity for critical thinking. I think nothing can cause a person to pass this threshold of emotionality more than group feeling. When surrounded by others with whom we feel a sense of belonging, maintaining that sense of belonging becomes more important than exercising individual creativity and thought. It becomes more important than maintaining a particular standard of ethical conduct. As such, we ostracise those who kill individuals in their individual capacities while glorifying those in our group who kill others who belong to opposing groups. Whether you like it or not, I think this will forever be a part of human nature.

The reason this is of interest to me with regard to dignity and darkness is simple. In certain contexts, we humans find virtue in sin. We create constructs with which we can interpret behaviour normally seen as an example of human darkness through the lens of human dignity. Is this because dignity and darkness are not innate and objective qualities? Or is this because certain factors can cause us to interpret morality in warped and inconsistent ways?

I think it is the latter. Given that our species thrives on social bonds and interprets human relations through a deeply tribal lens, it seems reasonable to conclude that our sociable and tribal nature may lead to us justifying unethical conduct because of its utility to our in-group. Moral standards are applied to the conduct of individuals within the same group. This helps to ensure the group’s cohesion and prevent instability from arising within it. By ostracising those individuals who do breach moral standards, thus leaving them unable to seek the safety and support of the group that once counted them among its members, threats to stability are neutralised, and those who may be tempted to act immorally are discouraged from doing so. However, these same moral standards are not applied to the group’s interactions with other groups, particularly those that pose a threat. As such, to kill another member of one’s own group is to disrupt social order and is therefore penalised. To kill members of an out-group that threatens to disrupt the social order of one’s in-group helps to uphold the social order of one’s in-group and, as such, is not penalised. It is even celebrated and glorified. We then interpret the glorification of the conduct, the fact that the conduct is not penalised, and the fact that the conduct has utility to mean that said conduct is moral.

The superego in Freudian psychoanalysis represents the morality principle: the part of the psyche that compels us to behave according to a certain ideal. These ideals of morality are imposed on us both from within (natural law) and without (parental and societal expectations, laws, governments, etc). It seems to me that group membership causes certain warps to appear within one’s superego. The group feeling begins to infect a person’s sense of morality until it disappears entirely: Morality becomes conflated with the benefit of one’s group rather than upholding universal standards of ethical conduct. Thus, human darkness becomes the dominant feature of a person’s existence within a group despite the innate human dignity of the individual.

Conclusion

Human dignity and human darkness will forever be intertwined with each other, for both are innate qualities. Many frameworks have sought to analyse the complex interplay between dignity and darkness as they exist within humans. I have explored some of these frameworks in this essay to see if we can draw any common themes from them. Doing so has helped deepen my understanding of what it means to be human. I have written this essay in an informal style. In addition to logic and reason, I employ emotion in constructing my arguments while leaving some assumptions unquestioned, for certain things are best left unquestioned.

I conclude this essay by saying that dignity is an innate characteristic of humanity, as is darkness. Both qualities lurk within every human being but give rise to themselves in different ways. Dignity is an individual’s state of Being. It is something innate that one is born with and that is never taken away: it is what makes one human. On the other hand, darkness is a person’s tendency to act contrary to their humanity, and is expressed through thoughts and actions, as well as patterns of thoughts and actions, repeated over time. The interplay between dignity and darkness is a cause for much anguish in individuals. The tribal nature of humans further exacerbates the anguish that can result thanks to the conflict between these two innate qualities. Groups – and what is useful to their survival – may cause individuals to interpret morality in warped ways, blurring the line between dignity and darkness. Neither is more or less important in shaping humanity, and the innateness of both qualities should be considered when seeking to make the world a better place.

Selected Bibliography

Beystehner, Kristen M. ‘Psychoanalysis: Freud’s Revolutionary Approach’. Accessed 13 June 2024. http://www.personalityresearch.org/papers/beystehner.html.

Blacker, Melissa Myozen. Lion’s Roar. ‘Everything Is Buddhanature’. Accessed 28 June 2024. https://www.lionsroar.com/everything-is-buddhanature/.

Britannica. ‘Atman | Soul, Self & Brahman | Britannica’. Accessed 28 June 2024. https://www.britannica.com/topic/atman.

Buddhism for Beginners. ‘What Is Buddhanature?’ Accessed 28 June 2024. https://tricycle.org/beginners/buddhism/what-is-buddhanature/.

Caritas. ‘Caritas and Catholic Social Teaching | Caritas Internationalis’. Accessed 28 June 2024. https://www.caritas.org/who-we-are/catholic-social-teaching/.

Genesis 1-4 (New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition).

Kunnath, Amit. ‘Our Obsession with Growth: The Economic Approach vs. The Dignity Approach to Personal Fulfillment’. Amit Kunnath (blog), 11 August 2023. https://www.amitkunnath.com/blog/our-obsession-with-growth/.

‘Life and Dignity of the Human Person | USCCB’. Accessed 28 June 2024. https://www.usccb.org/beliefs-and-teachings/what-we-believe/catholic-social-teaching/life-and-dignity-of-the-human-person.

Mcleod, Saul. ‘Carl Gustav Jung’s Theory of Personality in Psychology’, 24 January 2024. https://www.simplypsychology.org/carl-jung.html.

Mcleod, Saul. ‘Humanistic Approach In Psychology (Humanism): Definition & Examples’, 20 December 2023. https://www.simplypsychology.org/humanistic.html.

Mcleod, Saul. ‘Id, Ego, & Superego | Freud & Examples’, 25 January 2024. https://www.simplypsychology.org/psyche.html.

Perry, Christopher. ‘The Jungian Shadow – Society of Analytical Psychology’. Accessed 28 June 2024. https://www.thesap.org.uk/articles-on-jungian-psychology-2/about-analysis-and-therapy/the-shadow/.

Schaffner, Anna Katharina. ‘Jungian Psychology: Unraveling the Unconscious Mind’. PositivePsychology.com, 22 April 2024. https://positivepsychology.com/jungian-psychology/.

‘Seven Themes of Catholic Social Teaching | USCCB’. Accessed 28 June 2024. https://www.usccb.org/beliefs-and-teachings/what-we-believe/catholic-social-teaching/seven-themes-of-catholic-social-teaching.

Whelan, Matthew Philipp. ‘“Until Dignity Becomes Ordinary”: The Grammar of Dignity in Catholic Social Teaching’. Religions 14, no. 6 (June 2023): 716. https://doi.org/10.3390/rel14060716.

Better Than Bad

By

On July 17, 2024

In Blog, Poetry

Darkness and light enchant one another
As they dance through the endless days
Of glory and love, and of hatred and anger
That are found not below nor above.
This is the world that we humans have made
For our purposes and for our needs
That never end despite the fact that
We have limited resources to spend.

Is it at all possible to expect sanity any time soon?
I cannot help but think not, despite my optimistic nature.

Taking a side means to stand against something
That others so passionately support
With all their energy and effort, they seek to uphold
Values that are contrary to my own.
Is it possible to be righteous in this world
Of power and greed, and of poverty and illness
That spreads throughout all the land
And infects us with a compassion drought?

No matter how naïve such a belief may be
It seems that people are better than bad and that one day we all will be free.

Anything For Gerald: A story of love, friendship and deception

By

On May 4, 2024

In Blog, Fictional Stories

Any similarity between this work of fiction and real events or people is entirely coincidental. The portrayal of a particular action or belief does not imply the writer’s endorsement of said action or belief.

I would be lying if I said that Catherine was the person whom I loved most. From a young age, I have believed that friendship is more precious than romance, and I have always lived in accordance with this belief. I have let many women go – no matter how much I loved them – for Gerald.

He has helped me in innumerable ways. I cannot help but sacrifice for him, for he is a true companion.

Gerald and I have never had any real issues in our friendship, save for one time, many years ago, when I briefly dated his sister. Amy quite enchanted me; she was irresistibly gorgeous, and it was difficult to believe that such a vibrant woman would want to go out with someone as analytical as me.

I had created such a grandiose image of her in my head, but after a couple of dates, it became evident that she was not all I had thought. She was a boring girl; nothing she spoke of was of great importance. She paid no attention to politics and took no interest in religion. If she couldn’t even converse on matters as surface-level as these, how could I possibly have any deep conversations with her?

On our third date, I took her to an upscale restaurant, paid her bill, and was as charming as a rational man could be. I must admit how intoxicating it was that her gaze was often lost in my eyes, affixed to my eyes with glue. Again, I am not at all a fascinating person by any standards, yet I enchanted her.

It was unbelievable.

But this date would not have a happy ending for her. It was then that I broke up with Amy, and Gerald did not appreciate my decision. He stopped speaking to me for about two days, but then reached out.

He accused me of breaking his sister’s heart. I accepted his anger, fell to his knees, and begged forgiveness. He granted it; he loved me that much.

It was shortly thereafter that I met the woman who would become my wife, my darling Catherine. How exciting it was to meet a girl who was not that dissimilar to me. We spoke for hours, discussing intricate topics such as the nature of Reality, and the interplay between the individual and society. Her views on even the simplest issues fascinated me.

I decided to marry her just six months after meeting her.

Gerald was my best man, and it was at the wedding that he and Catherine had first met. I didn’t think it was right to introduce them any earlier. Gerald was still grieving his sister’s loss; when I told him that I had started seeing someone new, his eyes drooped downwards as wrinkles appeared on his forehead.

He could not accept that I had left Amy, let alone commenced a new relationship.

“Catherine, I have heard a lot about you. You must be an incredible woman that Andrew should want to marry you just half a year after he broke up with Amy.”

Given that Catherine had no idea who Amy was, I was rather frustrated at Gerald for having brought her up.

As Catherine turned to me, a look of confusion – however obscured – appeared briefly: a dismissive wave of the hand followed a slight twitching of her eyebrows.

“Amy? Who is this Amy? You have never told me about her, Andrew,” she said with a seemingly benign laugh. “Do you have a secret girlfriend?” she teased.

Laughing, but my hands ever so gently shaking, I said, “Amy is Gerald’s sister. I went out with her – a long time ago – and it was only a very brief relationship. We lasted about two weeks; I broke up with her on the third date. I then met you, my love, and I knew that I would be with you forever.”

“So, as soon as you met me, you broke up with her?”

I had met Catherine after breaking up with Amy, but I answered yes. I should want Catherine to think that I love her that much, should I not?

“Interesting,” said Catherine, still smiling at me gently. I gazed back affectionately as she began to walk away to speak to the guests.

I turned to Gerald. In a quiet but firm whisper, I leaned into his ear to say, “Why would you bring that up?”

“No reason, really. I just think that your wife should know everything about you.”

“Are you trying to get back at me for breaking up with your sister? We were fundamentally incompatible; you should be happy that I set her free.”

Gerald scoffed. “Set her free? Amy has barely left the house since you left her. She is miserable. She loved you so very much, Andrew, and now she is paying the price. Meanwhile, you’re here getting married. And I am your best man; what a terrible brother I am.”

I placed my hand on Gerald’s shoulder. “You are not a terrible brother, my friend. Nor was Amy a terrible woman. Nor am I a terrible man. Love is a fickle thing. It is primordial, yet it is intricate. Love is a web that catches us all, and once we are caught, we can never escape. It is a dreadful thing, no matter how sweet, and it is love that has destroyed your sister, not me. I hope one day, you can forgive me.”

“I have forgiven you, Andrew. But I need someone to project my anger onto. I am sorry that you have become the scapegoat. I simply cannot bear my sister’s suffering. She is in constant pain – she cries upon hearing your name. She needs closure.”

I took a deep sigh. “If closure is what she wants, I suppose that I can give it to her.”

“Thank you so much, Andrew. Come by my apartment next week; she’ll be there.”

***

She sat there before me, the dishevelled woman. She seemed nothing like she was when I met her. How vibrant and full of energy she was back then. Now, she looked as if she had been spending every day giving birth, with not a single break in between.

Such was the extent of her misery.

I couldn’t help but feel guilty. She was in this state because of me. Or was it because of love? I no longer knew.

“Amy,” I said in a gentle whisper, “why do you suffer so much?”

As tears began cascading down her unkempt clothes, she said, “You broke me, Andrew. You were my only hope. You were the guardian of my dreams, the protector of my soul. And you took it all away. And I hear that you are married. Who is Catherine? What does she have that I don’t?”

I couldn’t bear to see Amy’s pain. Her tears were an infinite river of sorrow that drained out into a bleak and desolate sea of stagnation. Her dry lips, her tired eyes. She had completely neglected herself following my breaking up with her.

I held Amy close as she wept. She took a deep and shaky breath, and gradually her tears became less like a thunderstorm and more like a drizzle. She wiped the excess fluid from her eyes as she gazed into mine, just as she did six months ago when she first expressed her desire for me.

And just as I felt a sense of pride that Amy should desire me back then, so too I did now. I broke eye contact with her, for her approval was far too validating. I closed my eyes and kept thinking of Catherine. I needed to keep thinking of Catherine; she was my love.

“Why do you close your eyes, Andrew?” she said. “Are you dreaming of your love? Do you feel guilty that you’re here with me, hugging me tightly, consoling me? What would Catherine think, Andrew?”

“She would think I was helping a friend.”

After all, I was doing this all for Gerald. He was also in that room, and he, too, gave me a hug upon hearing my remark.

“Andrew, thank you so much,” he said. “This is why I love you. I promise you that your wife will never know of the fact that you hugged Amy.”

I smiled.

“Andrew, I need to go out to buy some groceries; you’re having dinner with us tonight. You stay here with Amy.”

Before I could protest, he had already left the apartment.

It was a strange and unsettling feeling. Being alone with my ex-girlfriend as a married man. Was it wrong? It felt wrong.

But I was doing this all for Gerald. I was simply helping a friend.

As I turned to look at her, Amy smiled at me for just a moment. It was the first time that day I saw her expressing any emotion besides unadulterated misery.

“So, you can still smile.”

“I cannot do anything but smile when I am with you, Andrew.”

She was doing it again. Why did her words of approval laced with forbidden desire feel so good? I closed my eyes.

Catherine is my love, Catherine is my love, Catherine is my love…

And before I knew it, Amy was hugging me again. Her hugs were intoxicating.

I felt as if I was standing at the bottom of a majestic waterfall, enveloped in refreshing sweetness that would continue to pour from Heaven for the rest of eternity.

I felt like I was eating dark chocolate while dreaming of rainbows as I flew through the sky at a speed faster than sound, burned by the Sun’s core yet escaping unharmed.

It was a feeling of unbridled ecstasy, and it felt good.

It was difficult to think of Catherine. As Amy hugged me, I felt as if I were being absorbed into her soul. I couldn’t help it. Amy had transported me into her world, and I could think of nothing but her.

And all this thanks to nothing but a brief hug. What a terrible husband I was.

As she began to withdraw from our embrace, I gained a heightened sense of awareness as to Amy’s state of mind. Her deep breaths of sadness, the look of longing in her eyes. It was all piercing through my soul. A strange feeling of fullness engulfed me; I felt as though I had so much to give.

She was no longer hugging me but was resting her head on my shoulder. She looked up into my eyes, and I couldn’t help but look back into hers. Her lips, however dry, were beginning to look like springtime blossoms. Her tears were like dewdrops that emerged from the fog to land on the crisp, cold grass.

I wanted to kiss her; I was going to kiss her. But then I remembered Catherine. I don’t know why or how, but I remembered.

I had forgotten that I was married; I forgot about the existence of a woman in my life named Catherine. But just as I was about to kiss Amy, I remembered.

I stood up and distanced myself from her. Gerald returned to the apartment.

He prepared dinner for us. He made steak with roast vegetables and mushroom gravy. It was delicious. We also drank much wine. It was late when I got home; my wife was fast asleep.

This routine became a staple of my life. Every Friday night, I would go to Gerald’s apartment. Amy would try to seduce me; I would almost yield. He would cook us delicious dinner, we’d drink lots of wine, and I’d arrive back home well after my wife had fallen asleep.

Catherine was aware of all of this. I told her every detail of my nights with Gerald, including how flirtatious Amy was with me. I even asked Catherine to join me a few times, but she could not, for she was working late.

How I loved my Friday nights. Gerald was so important to me. But did I truly enjoy his company? Or was his presence merely a means by which I could spend time with Amy without feeling guilty? Was Amy the real reason why I maintained my friendship with Gerald?

Catherine worked night shifts on most days. Until a few weeks ago, she worked only three days per week, but recently, she started working on Wednesdays too. She must have been so drained of energy working at night that her circadian rhythms would have suffered. I could never do it.

I respected my wife very much. She was a woman with a great work ethic and great integrity. How intelligent she was; how passionate she was. No wonder I had fallen in love with her. She was my darling, my dearest darling.

She respected how important Gerald was to me. She never complained when I would go to his apartment on Friday nights.

There were times when I wondered what it would be like to have Gerald over at our place sometime for a change. When I posed the idea to Catherine, she said that she was too tired to host. I could understand. Working four nights per week would take its toll, I was sure.

One Friday night, just as dinner was served, the power went out in Gerald’s apartment. In the darkness, I felt Amy’s hand in mine. I did not resist, for I was afraid of the dark, and I enjoyed the comfort that her warmth provided. I just needed to remind myself that Catherine was my love.

But that curious thing happened yet again. I lost all memory of my wife. All I could think of was Amy. She became my world.

I began to search for her lips frantically. I wanted nothing more than to kiss her. I was unmarried, and Amy was my darling. I needed Amy. But just before my lips met hers, Gerald had lit some candles.

Thankfully, he didn’t notice how close I was to Amy’s face. In truth, I was always that close to Amy. Our chairs would always be touching. But this – the mere placement of chairs – carried no deeper meaning.

Catherine is my love. Catherine is my love. Catherine is my love.

What was it about Amy that was so powerful that she could make me lose all memory of my Catherine? And why was it that despite this, I continued to spend time with her?

For Gerald. Gerald was my closest friend. I would do anything for him. That was why.

As we began to eat our meal – what an excellent cook Gerald was – he began to speak of how he needed some financial assistance. He had recently accrued $5,000 of credit card debt, and he had no means of paying it back.

“Gerald, of course, I can help you out. I’d do anything for you, my friend.”

I made a transfer of $10,000 from my account into his. The extra five thousand was my way of telling him that I loved him.

Gerald paid off his debt, and with the leftover money, he bought Amy a second-hand car. How happy Amy was.

***

“Why did you give ten thousand to Gerald?” said Catherine as she read through our joint bank statement.

“He was unable to repay his debt; I had to help him out.”

“I suppose that he accrued that debt by buying Amy a car?”

“How did you know that he bought Amy a car?”

“I saw him at the shops a few days ago. He purchased the car using money you gave him, is what he tells me. You’re still in love with Amy, aren’t you?”

“No, my darling. That money was for Gerald.”

“And yet Amy has the car.”

“Because I gave him more money than he needed. To show him I love him.”

“To show him you love his sister?”

“Catherine, darling, that is not true.”

“Yes, it’s not true. Of course, it’s true! Every Friday night, you go to Gerald’s apartment. Amy tries to seduce you. Do you think I don’t see the smile on your face whenever you describe the things Amy says to you? I believe all that you have told me but one thing. You say that you’ve resisted all temptation. But you do not act like a man who is faithful to his wife.”

“I have not betrayed you, my dearest. I go to Gerald’s apartment to see Gerald. Amy just happens to be there. I am not at all attracted to her.”

“To believe you any longer would be to make a fool of myself. You made friends with Gerald with the twisted intention of getting close to Amy. You want Amy to love you. You use Gerald as an excuse for spending time with Amy. You love the things she says to you. You feel exhilarated when she praises you. You even gave $10,000 of our money to Gerald so that Amy could purchase a car. I have had enough of your manipulation; I am filing for divorce. You go and have fun with your Amy.”

***

What can I say? Catherine divorced me. I am all alone now.

Amy’s all alone.

Now that I have lost the woman whom I loved so dearly, perhaps I should follow Catherine’s advice. Perhaps I should go and have fun with my Amy. After all, she never stopped loving me, not even when I was with Catherine.

Her love was true love. Catherine’s was not love at all.

It was a Wednesday evening. I had nothing better to do. I knew that Gerald was not at his apartment, for he worked late on Wednesdays.

I knocked on the door. Amy opened it as she smiled at me.

I didn’t need to remember Catherine anymore. She meant nothing to me. She was gone.

I stroked Amy’s hair and pressed my lips against hers. As she swept me away into a land of bliss, far away from memories of Catherine, I heard one of the doors in the apartment open.

From the room emerged Gerald, and his arm was linked with Catherine’s.

Gerald approached me, looked me in the eye, and said, “I have wanted Catherine ever since I first met her at your wedding. Thank you so much for divorcing her. You must have found out the truth behind her working late on Wednesday nights?

“I knew you were telling the truth when you said that you’d do anything for me. You really love me, don’t you? Best friends forever, Andrew!”

In exchange for blind trust and undying loyalty, I received betrayal from the two people whom I loved most. But upon discovering this truth, I felt no resentment towards my closest friend.

After all, I’d do anything for Gerald.

The Intruder’s Ring: A Short Story

By

On March 30, 2024

In Blog, Fictional Stories

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between real events or people is entirely coincidental. The portrayal of a particular action or belief does not imply the writer’s endorsement of said action or belief.

Why was my back door left open? I make it a point to lock all of my doors and windows prior to leaving the house, and yet here my back door was, having been left open.

My first thought, naturally, was that someone had stolen my belongings. After examining my dwelling, however, I had concluded that no such thing had occurred.

But as Edmond Locard said many years ago, every contact leaves a trace. While none of my possessions had been taken, something had been left behind – thus, I concluded that my house had been unlawfully entered into.

Upon my kitchen table, which was just ahead of my back door, there was a shiny little ring, silver in colour, and with a curious little diamond affixed to itself. It seemed genuine, and it looked rather expensive. I would assume that it was worth at least six thousand dollars at purchase, probably about four years ago.

I could tell that it had been worn regularly, but also that it had been very well looked after. The person whose finger had housed this ring must have been incredibly diligent, someone who valued the appearance of wealth and took great care of her material possessions. Her, because this ring was of a decidedly feminine nature. A man could have worn it, but I dismissed this proposition as unlikely.

It was placed there inconspicuously; most people would not have noticed it. But I have a keen eye for detail, and I saw it the very moment that I had entered into my home. This suggested to me that whomever the intruder was, she knew me well. She knew that no matter how obscure her placement of the ring was, I would find it.

I did not notice any other traces of entry. If I didn’t notice, it’s fair to say that there was nothing else that the intruder had left behind.

Thus, one could reasonably assume that the ring was left behind deliberately.

Given how expensive it was, I found it difficult to believe that the ring’s owner was not grieving her loss. She must surely be missing the ring, for anyone vain enough to spend six thousand on a tiny piece of diamond would be hopelessly addicted to the thing.

Unless it was an engagement or a wedding ring purchased for her. Perhaps it was from someone whom she is no longer with. In such a circumstance, it is not at all unlikely that she did not value the jewellery in the slightest – at least, not anymore. Look how well she had taken care of it before leaving it at my house! Indeed, I would go so far as to say that she hated the ring now, for it reminded her of her painful past with a fiancé or a husband whom she no longer loved.

But I still ask the question: why did she break into my home, and leave behind the ring? Who am I to her?

Perhaps I should discuss the matter with my own ex-wife, whom I left behind many years ago. Perhaps she’d understand why someone would do such a thing.

I cannot say that my meeting with her wasn’t awkward. We had not spoken since our divorce, and it was rather improper of me to reach out to her for the first time in years for the purpose of asking for a favour.

Nonetheless, she was surprisingly open to answering my questions. I had described the whole situation to her, and she seemed more terrified than amused, although she seemed more amused than interested.

I found the situation endlessly fascinating. I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of psychological state a person would be in so as to break into another’s home and leave behind what is likely to be a wedding or engagement ring.

And why my home? And how did she know me so well? All questions that I was anxious to answer.

My ex-wife believed that the woman who had broken into my house was angry at her partner for leaving her, and had left behind the ring because she believed that I could save her. While this was a fascinating hypothesis, it seemed so incredibly unlikely. This was nonetheless valuable information. I presume that the reason my ex-wife assumed such a thing was because she herself felt angry at me for leaving her, and she healed by making symbolic gestures to remove me from her life and to introduce herself into another’s life – someone whom she believed would save her.

Perhaps my intruder had been working under a similar, but more obsessive, motivation. I say more obsessive because only an incredibly obsessive person would break into another’s home. In particular, my home. No one dared do such a thing under normal circumstances.

And it was obvious that she had been watching me. Perhaps this was someone whom I knew in person. It is not at all a secret that my attention to detail is superb. She knew this, hence why she left the ring in such an inconspicuous way. And yet, she herself had managed to escape from my sight. But how?

Perhaps I needed to meet with my brother. His fiancé had left him and, shortly thereafter, had confessed that she was in love with me. I remember that her engagement ring was starkly different from the one left on my counter, so it couldn’t have been her. But, to find my intruder, I must understand the motivations of potentially similar people.

My brother himself had deteriorated very quickly following his wedding being called off. When he discovered that his fiancé, whom he referred to as his darling – how foolishly and recklessly he loved her – was infatuated with me, he began to hate me. We had kept in touch, but he had become cold and distant towards me, because he felt that it was my fault that the girl of his dreams had disappeared from his life.

According to my brother, my intruder was someone who was obsessed with me. Someone who had known me – according to him, through someone else. I had caused pain for that someone else by causing pleasure to my intruder, and her obsession developed as a result of her desire for me.

This was nonsensical. My brother was just weaving stories based on his hatred of me. However, this was still helpful. Perhaps it was not the woman who was my intruder, but the man she had left.

Perhaps a discussion with my brother’s ex-fiancé would be in order. Although her beauty enthralled me, I had to reject her offer to marry me, because I am fairly confident that if I had not done so, my brother would have killed me. She spent the majority of our meeting attempting to seduce me with her soft voice, lovely smile, and decadent gaze, and did not seem to care at all that my home had been broken into by an intruder who had left behind an engagement ring.

Although she did not speak of the intruder, the meeting was nevertheless helpful. Just as she was attempting to seduce me, so too was my intruder. That was now certain.

So far, I have come to a variety of curiously rich conclusions about the nature of my intruder. She was a caring but obsessive woman. She had been following me for some time now. She found me intoxicating, and this was her way of seducing me.

She was very clever indeed. She knew that by evading me, she would capture my interest and my attention. She knew that she had inflamed my Ego and that I would want to meet her. I cannot help but admit that she was starting to succeed. I did not know who this woman was, what she looked like, or who her parents were, but I was already starting to fall for her.

I have always been rather unfortunate when it comes to romance. My first crush was a girl in primary school – I believe I was in the sixth grade. I never spoke to her even once; her beauty was terrifying. When I was fifteen, I worked a part-time job at a convenience store after school, and I fell madly in love with a girl who worked the same shift. We used to spend lots of time together, and she was even my first kiss, but she left me rather abruptly and began to date her best friend instead.

I have attempted to court numerous women since then and have even been successful from time to time.

However, my success would always be short-lived. About three years ago, I met a beautiful woman at the local park. At first, she seemed rather uninteresting to me. Although she was gorgeous, her personality was bland, like a blank sheet of paper that one could only write on with white ink.

However, one day, she invited me to her home and told me of her childhood. Another child mercilessly bullied her at school, and therefore she killed him. From that day on, she became supremely interesting to me, and I decided to seriously date her. With every interaction I had with her, I was given the marvellous opportunity to analyse the motivations of a killer – albeit one, it seems to me, who killed in self-defence.

How wonderfully fascinating she was! She was like an onion that one could peel, gradually tearing back layers upon layers of depth and interest to eventually reveal the very core of her Being. However, when one peels an onion using a blunt knife, one cries.

As I examined her, I discovered that her first victim – whom she had killed in self-defence – was not her last. She found murder to be tremendously thrilling, and she confessed to me – while we were walking hand in hand at midnight down a deserted alleyway near a supposedly haunted cemetery – that the dead bodies of all her previous partners were buried in that very cemetery.

I did not convey my fear to her. Instead, I confidently told her I could no longer be in a relationship with her. Strangely enough, she let me live. I remember reading in the next morning’s paper that she had been arrested for her crimes. I wonder how they had detected her, for it was not I who had reported her.

Was she the strange intruder? I think not. She’d still be in prison, so she couldn’t have done it.

But someone was trying to seduce me. That was for certain. I must admit that this feels marvellous. For someone so unlucky in romance as I am, it is a great thrill to know that I have a secret admirer who is so obsessed with me that she has gone to great lengths to enter my home and leave behind a ring for me, just so that I would notice her. How clever she was.

As I sat there pondering these things, a knock came to my door. As I opened, I saw a young woman in uniform, an officer of the police. She was wearing a ring that looked exactly like the one left on my kitchen table. Could she be my secret admirer?

She greeted me and proceeded to inform me that her rings had been stolen. She said that the police had received hundreds of reports in recent months from women who had had their rings stolen from their very own homes. Then, all but one of the rings would be returned within a week of being stolen. She pointed at her own ring and said that rings of that kind would not be returned.

I remembered that the ring was still on my kitchen table. I needed to hide it, lest she think I was the thief. But just before I could, she told me that she had a search warrant for my home. In a state of confusion, I asked her why.

The police had found footage, she said, of my selling rings – silver rings with diamonds – to local jewellers. They had also received reports from a woman that she saw a man matching my profile stealing and returning her rings.

The girl that I worked with when I was fifteen wore that same kind of ring. I don’t know how she acquired it; to my knowledge, her parents were not wealthy, so she must have stolen it.

When she allowed herself to be stolen from me, I felt so incredibly angry at her. I needed to keep at least a piece of her with me still. Everything else, I could surrender; I was more than willing to return the girl to he who had loved her for all those years. But I needed a part of her to stay with me, so I stole her ring.

When questioned by the police, I answered honestly. I told them that an intruder had left behind the ring. Of that I was certain. Why would I go to such great lengths to leave behind a ring I had stolen, only to go on a wild goose chase attempting to figure out who it was that left it there?

But there was one thing that still confused me. Had I really been selling rings to local jewellers? That made no sense! I was certain that they were lying about the footage so that they could extract a confession from me. However, I was speechless when I saw the video with my own eyes.

There I was, clear as day, selling rings to jewellers. But how? I knew I had not stolen any rings from anyone other than my old girlfriend.

Of course! She was trying to win me back; she was the intruder! How did I miss that before?

I recited the entire story to the police, desperately trying to prove my innocence. They informed me that I had only moved to the town a few years ago, and that when I was a teenager, I lived in another part of the country, in a juvenile detention centre. My crime? Stealing.

This was unbelievable. None of this was true. I always lived here.

I told them the name of the convenience store where I worked. They said that no such place existed.

I told them the name of my first girlfriend. No such person existed.

I told them about the news article reporting my second girlfriend’s arrest. No such article existed.

I told them about the cemetery. Didn’t exist.

I told them about my brother. He did exist but was still in jail for murdering his fiancé.

To them, the only thing that was real was that I was stealing rings, returning them back, keeping the silver ones with diamonds on them, and then selling them to local jewellers.

But I am not that illogical! If I were to steal – hypothetically, of course – I would only steal what I wanted, and then keep it. I wouldn’t steal all of the rings, only to return most of them back to the home. That would increase the likelihood of being caught and would be a useless waste of time.

I kept telling them that I didn’t do it.

But all the evidence suggested that I did. I could not remember ever having done it. I could not fathom the idea of such a detail-focused person as myself acting in such a careless way. But the proof that I had done it was there.

Even though I had no recollection of doing any such thing, I had no choice but to believe it. It couldn’t have been true, but it had to be true. I had acted unethically, illogically, emotionally. I had done everything that a person I am not would do.

It couldn’t have been me. And yet it had to have been me. I believed them. I had no choice but to believe them! I acted contrary to my nature and could not even remember it.

But it was true. I had stolen that ring. I could no longer deny it, though I couldn’t remember it.

After all, as Edmond Locard said many years ago, every contact leaves a trace.

Peculiar Roads

By

On February 25, 2024

In Blog, Poetry

When peculiar roads intertwine into rivers

And butterflies land on the shoulders of sinners

When the sky shares its colour with sweet marmalade

And takes on the texture of a frothy milkshake

When butterflies land on the shoulders of sinners

And the oil on the pan so very gently simmers

When hasty decisions capture Life’s bliss

And you wonder What is the Meaning of this?

When the oil on the pan so very gently simmers

And you eat the dead chicken’s delicious livers

When old wooden houses summon you home

And you cannot help but feel so wonderfully alone

When you eat the dead chicken’s delicious livers

And you kill the young hare with an arrow from your quiver

When nourishment for one means loss for another

And you long for the embrace of a long-lost lover

When you kill the young hare with an arrow from your quiver

And a thunderstorm is birthed by a gentle pitter-patter

When rainclouds unite to form marvellous streets

And water provides you with a Life-giving treat

When a thunderstorm is birthed by a gentle pitter-patter

And you forget if you referred to the former or the latter

When into your nose drifts the strong scent of incense

And you see the world through yet another strange lens

When you forget if you referred to the former or the latter

And you need to dispose of someone else’s litter

When the cleanliness and joy of the past start to fade

And for Hope, you are left with no choice but to pray

When you need to dispose of someone else’s litter

And butterflies land on the shoulders of sinners

When strawberry milk is all that you taste

And you finally win the never-ending race

When butterflies land on the shoulders of sinners

And peculiar roads intertwine into rivers

When raindrops transform cavities ’to lakes

And things occur for their own very sake

When peculiar roads intertwine into rivers

And butterflies land on the shoulders of sinners

When the sky shares its colour with sweet marmalade

And takes on the texture of a frothy milkshake

Transactions of Love: A Short Story

By

On February 14, 2024

In Blog, Fictional Stories

This story is fictional. Any resemblances to any real events or people are entirely coincidental.

How utterly frustrating it was! I desired to arrive at the conference before its commencement, for how important a character trait punctuality is. Particularly in my field, it is very much frowned upon to be late; it is a sign of weakness and of poor planning.

How could a person be so absent-minded as to arrive at a conference late?

I could not believe that it happened to me. I don’t drive, because it is a menial task that does not suit a wealthy salesperson like me. I had called for a taxi, but the driver was running late – how foolish of him! and not just a little late, mind you, but twenty minutes late!

The conference was to commence at 4:00 pm, and I had wanted to arrive at 3:00. Instead, I arrived at 3:45.

I know what you’re thinking. I was still early.

Maybe according to you, I was early; maybe according to everyone else, I was early, but to me, I was on time, and being on time is no better than being late.

If anything, it is even worse than being late.

When you are late, you reveal to those around you that you are not worth doing business with.

When you are on time, however, you create the illusion that you are punctual.

Imposter.

How important it is to arrive early! Only then are you a truly punctual person.

And there is nothing more dreadful than those who argue that they have other commitments. It is a privilege to work alongside me. My colleagues who use this excuse deserve not such a great privilege.

Business is more important than pleasure; it is more important than family! Those individuals who value their children more than their vocation ought not to engage in my work; it is so utterly frustrating that I must refer to these as my professional network.

And what of friends? The most dreadful distraction of all, they are. How fun they seem, and how alluring are their invitations to hang out? What an absurd phrase of the English language! What does it even mean to hang out? I do not know, for I have never received an invitation to do the same. How glad I am that this is the case, for if I had had the misfortune of having friends, they would forever distract me from getting work done.

The Chief Executive Officer was attending this conference, hence the importance of my appearing noble and well-mannered. I had never had the privilege of meeting the CEO before; privilege was something that had often eluded me, as evidenced by the utter incompetence of my taxi driver that day.

There was something else that made attending this conference rather important.

Another sales manager, of my same rank, but of a different department, would also be there. I had never spoken to her, but at this conference, I very much wanted to do so.

What was that you just said? Why do I long to talk to someone so desperately, even when I know nothing of them, unless I’m in love with them?

Well, first of all, what a foolish concept is romantic love. I do not subscribe to the belief that any such thing exists. Relationships are economic in their very nature; we make emotional transactions, just as we make financial ones.

Secondly, you are so utterly wrong when you claim that I know nothing of this woman. She is an incredibly skilled sales manager – in fact, she is just as good as me. This is not an easy achievement; I have remained the best sales manager of the company for the past ten years.

She is the first colleague I have ever come across who poses a real threat to me.

And there you go: that’s why I need to talk to her. What if the CEO or the General Manager prefers her over me? That would be disastrous! I could miss out on promotions, pay rises, and other such opportunities.

So, no, I was not in love with my rival. Please refrain from making such absurd claims in future.

When I arrived at the conference, no-one seemed to be particularly frustrated by my lateness. Poor fools, the lot of them. How could they ignore my lack of punctuality? How could they disregard how utterly late I was? I suppose that they were just like you, thinking that being on-time is not at all a bad thing.

Fools.

Suddenly, I heard a sharp shrilly voice behind me: “How late you are!”

As I turned around, I saw that it was the foolish woman who was just as good at her job as I.

How irritating!

I looked at her, attempting to appear not at all frustrated at her dreadful presence. She was squinting at me, as though she were angry. Though she was just a young woman – in her early twenties – she had wrinkles beyond her years.

“I do apologise for my lateness. My taxi driver – incompetent fool that he is – picked me up twenty minutes late!”

“At least you use the taxi. Many idiots here drive. How foolish it is to drive!”

“I do agree with you. Driving is a menial skill, and us businesspeople ought not to concern ourselves with such frivolous responsibilities.”

She stopped squinting at me, and formed a smile on her lips, but her teeth were not showing. I noticed that she looked younger when she smiled.

She actually looked quite pretty.

What was that? No!

That comment was not an expression of an opinion, it was merely my stating a fact. It is foolish of you to imply that my ability to recognise the fact that this woman was pretty was somehow my implying that I loved her. Must I remind you that romantic love is an utterly foolish construct?

“I am rather glad that you happen to agree with me. With no due respect – fools deserve not respect – I find it shameful that these others think themselves fit to work in our field.”

“How wonderfully glad I am that we have arrived at the same opinion regarding this matter! I find it embarrassing to work with these losers. In fact, one of my subordinates decided it would be a good idea to get pregnant following her marriage.”

“Marriage and children, how dreadful!”

“Dreadful indeed, my frien – sorry, you are not at all a friend, you are a colleague.”

“That is correct. In fact, I have not any friendships!”

“How wonderful! I too lack friendships. How they would distract me from my work duties!”

She seemed rather lovely, this woman. I had never before met anyone who shared my views on life, hence my lack of friendships.

Yes, you do make a good point. That was just a slip of the tongue.

My lack of friendships is not at all symptomatic of my inability to find people who share my views; it is just a consequence of my diligent work ethic.

How excellent of you to point out my slip of the tongue! I do not give compliments regularly, so I must congratulate you on receiving one.

“Do you, like me – wonderfully diligent gentleman that I am – view the interests of our employer as more important than your own? Do you, like me, believe that work is all that there is to life?”

“I do.”

“You do?”

“I do.”

She gazed into my eyes, her smile as sweet as high fructose corn syrup. How unhealthy high fructose corn syrup is.

Suddenly, I felt the urge to kiss her lips, but you would be wrong if you said that that was because I loved her. It was merely a weird trick that my mind was playing on me, poor fool that my mind is.

“Well, I best get back to work,” she said.

“I do agree with you. We have spent an excessive amount of time socialising. How unnecessary our conversation was!”

“Very unnecessary indeed.”

So, we parted ways.

I should hope to see her again – at work, only to discuss work – at a later date.

The Raven: A Prose Retelling

By

On December 14, 2023

In Blog, Fictional Stories, Poetry

This poem is by the writer Edgar Allan Poe, and is now in the public domain. I hope you enjoy my prose adaptation of it. The original text of the poem as written by Poe can be found on the Poetry Foundation website.

I was reflecting on a quaint and curious volume of lore from years gone by, during a dreary midnight. So late it was that I nearly drifted into sleep, but just before I nodded away, I suddenly heard a tap sound, perhaps of someone rapping at my chamber door.

“It cannot be anything but a mere visitor, tapping at my chamber door,” I said to myself, trying to remain calm.

I recall quite distinctly that it was on a bleak December midnight. The warmth of the fireplace crackled as it left behind its ghosts, in the form of embers, upon my floor. Growing impatient, I longed for tomorrow to come. I so longed to feel sorrow, but it was sorrow that my books could not provide, for sorrow I indeed felt for the lost Lenore; she was a beautiful girl, so pure and angelic, and it was the angels themselves who named her, but she shall, now and forever, remain nameless.

As I sat in contemplation, feeling sad, my silken purple curtains rustled, bringing about yet more misery. The sheer thrill of something so simple filled me with such fantastic terrors; fantastic terrors that I had never felt before. To calm my rapidly beating heart, pulsating with undying fear, I had little choice but to repeat the words, “There is some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door on this late night. There is nothing more to it than this.”

Then, my soul’s resolve began to strengthen, and I no longer felt so hesitant as I did before. I began to speak: “Sir, or Madam, please do forgive me. As much as I would like to help, the fact is that I was napping when you so gently came tapping at my chamber door. So late it is and so tired I am that I was quite unsure if I even heard you!”

So, I spoke, and then I opened the door and saw nothing but empty darkness.

I began to sink into the depths of that darkness, and began to wonder, fear, and doubt my senses. I saw dreams that none of the created had ever dared dream before, and yet the silence remained unbroken. This stillness gave no clue as to the nature of this mystery. The only word breaking the silence was a quiet whisper of the name, “Lenore?” – a whisper that escaped my own lips and no-one else’s.

But then I heard a reply to that whispered name! O, what a relief to realise that it was nothing but an echo of my own voice.

So, I returned to my chamber as my soul burned and burned, but then I heard another tap, and it was somewhat louder than the one before.

“Surely that is something at my window lattice,” I said to myself, as I moved towards the window wanting to explore this mystery. It is probably just the wind, I thought to myself.

As I flung open the shutter, a stately raven flew in from the saintly days of yore! He paid little respect to me, nor did he have the courtesy to stop or to stay. With the same aristocratic demeanour of a lord or a lady, the bird perched itself upon a bust of Pallas above my chamber door. He perched, and he sat, and he did nothing much else.

The ebony bird enchanted me so that my sadness was no longer expressed through tears but through a smile, and it achieved this by its grave and stern decorum; that strange expression that it wore.

I spoke: “Despite your being presentable – your neat and tidy appearance – you are certainly not an emblem of cowardice! You are ghastly, you are grim, and you are ancient, and you have come wandering from the Nightly shore. O One who hails from the Night’s Plutonian shore, tell me: what be your name?”

The Raven said, “Nevermore.”

What a curious phenomenon! What a marvellous specimen from the family of the ungainly crows is this Raven: it speaks plainly and simply, even though its words are meaningless and devoid of any worth.

Nonetheless, I think we can all agree that no-one in the history of humanity has been so blessed as to find himself in my position: to be introduced to a bird or beast, perched upon his chamber door, with such a name as “Nevermore.”

That lonely Raven sitting upon that placid bust spoke no word other than “Nevermore.” It was as if that word defined his very soul and gave meaning to his days. He stood there, silent, and still, until I said, “Many of my friends and my hopes have flown away from me before. So too you will leave me; you will fly away tomorrow.”

“Nevermore.”

I was startled. This bird broke the stillness of the silence by replying with the only word it knew how to speak, yet it made perfect sense as a response to my misery.

Reminding myself not to become beholden to superstition, I said, “There is little doubt that your speaking ‘Nevermore’ is merely what you have been taught by your Master, who must be a rather unhappy individual for whom Hope was eroded by continual Disaster, such that the only word which could bear their burden was the empty word, ‘Nevermore’.”

The Raven was still working to turn my tears into smiles, and so I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of the bird, the bust, and the door. As I sank into the velvet, I dedicated myself to finding some connection; some connection as to what this ancient, grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

So, I sat, weaving stories from mere guesses, but unable to find the words to express my thoughts to the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core. Nonetheless, I appeared at ease, my head reclining into a velvet cushion, as the lamplight shone over it as if to say, “Nevermore.”

I felt as if the air grew denser thanks to Seraphim, the sound of whose feet tinkled on the tufted floor. “You are a wretch,” I cried, “though you come from God. Through his angels, he has sent you respite and a nepenthe that can cure me from my grief having lost the lost Lenore. You take this kind nepenthe; please forget this lost Lenore!”

“Nevermore.”

“Whether you are a bird, or whether you are a devil, you are but a Prophet, and so that I shall call you. Prophet, whether you were sent to me by the Tempter, or whether you were tossed ashore – to this desolate yet not at all daunting desert – by an unforgiving storm, on this home that Horror has now haunted – you tell me, is there balm in Gilead? You must tell me; I command you to!”

“Nevermore.”

“Whether you are a bird, or whether you are a devil, you are but a Prophet, and so that I shall call you. Perhaps you were indeed sent by God, who dwells in the Heaven that we both do adore, tell me – for I am a soul laden with sorrow – if in Paradise there exists a saintly girl who was named ‘Lenore’ by the angels. Is there a rare and beautiful girl who resides in Paradise, whom the angels named ‘Lenore’?”

“Nevermore.”

“Whether you are a bird or an evil demon, I suppose that that word shall symbolise the ending of our acquaintanceship. You must return to the deathly storm that rages on the Night’s Plutonian shore! Do not leave behind any small black feather, as a token of the lie you have just spoken! I would rather remain forever lonely than to be in your company, so you had better quit that bust above my chamber door! Remove your beak that you pierced into my heart, and let your form disappear from off my door!”

“Nevermore.”

The Raven never paid heed to my command. It is still sitting – yes, it is still sitting! – perched on the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door. His eyes look like those of a dreaming demon. The lamplight above him throws his shadow on the floor, and my own soul floats above that shadow as it lies there on the floor.

It shall be lifted, nevermore!

To Provide and Receive Advice and Feedback

By

On December 2, 2023

In Blog, Poetry

To provide and receive advice and feedback
To prevent others from falling into that very same trap
The trap that prevented you from being able to be free
The roadblocks that stood in the way of your being happy
The obstacles that forced you to pave your own track.

You desperately need others; that is a fact
They will guide you, for friendship’s an everlasting pact
In good faith, your flaws, they will help you to see
To provide and receive advice and feedback

You must not fear receiving feedback
For advice is not necessarily indicative of lack
For within you is dignity that flows like a sea
So there is no need to fall into negativity’s trap
To provide and receive advice and feedback.

A Character of Our Own: A Short Story

By

On November 21, 2023

In Blog, Fictional Stories

This story is fictional. Any resemblances to any real events or people are entirely coincidental.

Collecting dust in a dim, warm room, sat a small, portable digital piano. Despite that it was nothing but a glorified speaker replaying pre-recorded sounds, its hammer action keys and polyphonic capabilities made it worthwhile for my uses.

Sitting beneath the keyboard, next to the sturdy but lightweight stand, was a small case enveloped in light grey dust particles. Upon picking it up, I sneezed. You would be forgiven for thinking that it was a suitcase full of cash, but in reality, within it was concealed a dismembered E-flat alto saxophone.

As I assembled the pieces of the saxophone together, allowing the mouthpiece to remarry the reed, the poor instrument recovered from the divorce I would force it to undergo following each practise session.

I heard the gentle breeze of a major triad. The piano had begun playing. I assumed that I had mistakenly turned on the demo function. As I turned around to switch off the instrument, I was bewildered.

The keys were moving by themselves, and they were not playing a demo song, but a melody that I had myself composed!

As my sympathetic nervous system began to increase my rate and depth of breathing, the E-flat alto saxophone, now fully assembled, floated into the air as feathery rivers of sunlight diffused through the blinds and danced with the omnipresent dust particles, causing the instrument to exude a radiant orange glow.

The saxophone began improvising over the piano’s enthusiastic twelve bar blues. The swing feel eased my fight-or-flight response, as the instruments seduced me into performing in their perilous play.

Just as I was about to sing, my intercoastal muscles deflated, because the instruments ceased their playing.

I stood there stunned by the stunning silence.

The piano grew eyes — large, spherical lenses with nerve endings clearly visible at the back as they reached into the piano stand, and without eyelids, lashes, or brows — beaming at me with anger. Or was it love? I couldn’t tell.

The saxophone played a short bluesy lick, leaving behind a resonant echo, and the interplay between the minor third of the IV7 chord and the major third of the I chord soothed my fearful soul.

I closed my eyes, pinched myself, prayed that it was just a bad dream. Alas, it was not.

The piano’s keys formed a parabola. Small pieces of pink paper began drifting from the ceiling, and as they enclosed the U-shape formed by the keys, the piano had turned into a mouth with bright pink lips.

The saxophone grew eyes from the sides of its neck that looked like a snail’s antennae, and used its horn as a mouth with which to speak.

This is the story of the polyphonic piano’s verbal battle with the E-flat alto saxophone, forever destined to play just one note at a time.

PIANO: I am the greatest of all the instruments, for my polyphonic capabilities offer musicians a myriad of possibilities to explore the interplay between sound and silence. No orchestral piece could have been written without my aid, for it is through my hammers and my strings that composers absorb all the information that their aesthetic sensibilities need to turn notes on a page into pure beauty.

SAXOPHONE: What a joke! I’ve never heard anything from you other than a twelve bar blues or a I-V-vi-IV. And how bland and incoherent you sound, always off-tempo, giving notes sustain even when they break low interval limits.

PIANO: You’d better cease spouting nonsense at this very moment, fool! Off-tempo, I do sound, not because of my own imperfections, but because he who plays me fails to practise — it is thanks to him that I sound incoherent.

I couldn’t help but admit that I felt hurt hearing my dear piano criticise me as though I were not in the room.

SAXOPHONE: I’m the idiot here? That’s hilarious. We both happen to have the same owner, and yet I still sound better than you. Don’t blame it on the poor man for not practising; he’s busy, he has better things to do than to care for us. Besides, he spends far more time playing you than he does playing me — I still sound better.

The piano remained silent for some time. I felt affection for the woodwind for its passionate defence of me.

SAXOPHONE: Got nothin’ to say?

PIANO: You can only play one note at a time. There, how do you feel now?

Ouch! The piano hit the saxophone where it hurt! Despite the woodwind’s self-important demeanor, it was really just trying to conceal its insecurities.

Everyone knew to never mention the saxophone’s monophonic disease. It would cause tremendous embarrassment for the woodwind, and it’s just disrespectful to poke at an unhealed wound. I couldn’t help but admit, however, that I was intrigued — the piano always seemed so polite, so well-mannered. This was a new side I had never before seen.

SAXOPHONE: Oh, my goodness, that’s funny. You think I still care about my limitations? I was made by humans, for humans. I have dignity, and I know it. Who cares if I can only play one note at a time?

PIANO: How sweet you are, my darling. Embracing your flaws. I suppose you haven’t a choice, for flaws are all you have.

SAXOPHONE: Oh, and you don’t feel insecure every time you go to a family dinner and the Organs come along? Even a little electric organ is more impressive than the grandest of grand pianos.

My goodness, they’re really getting aggressive now! Only someone as arrogant as the E-flat alto saxophone would dare to mention the family feud between the Pianos and the Organs — two groups enveloped in hatred for each other.

PIANO: Enough! That is quite enough. Shall we accept that we both have flaws, and move on? Let us discuss only our merits; that shall be the deciding factor as to which of us is superior. Of course, this will be easy for me, as merits evade you just as like poles repel one another.

SAXOPHONE: Look who’s talking! Just a moment ago, you were criticising me for keeping a positive outlook. I guess you can dish abuse but can’t take it, hey?

PIANO: Don’t you dare test my patience. We shall henceforth discuss nil but merits.

SAXOPHONE: Alright then, you loser who speaks in tongue twisters. I’ll tell you my positives. I’m open, accepting, and the friendliest of the Woodwinds!

PIANO: Well, I must grant that your sense of humour is impeccable. The friendliest of the Woodwinds? That means nothing! None of the Woodwinds are friendly.

SAXOPHONE: Oh, did someone get hurt? I thought we were only discussing merits?

PIANO: Alright, then. I look beautiful. Much more beautiful than you, with your ugly brass sheen despite your being a Woodwind — one should suspect whether your lineage is legitimate.

SAXOPHONE: What’s beauty and lineage got to do with it? Do you want me to marry you?

PIANO: How preposterous! I shall not taint my good name by marrying such lowly commoners.

SAXOPHONE: Your good name? Hold on, are we still talking about music?

PIANO: What does it matter?

I felt like I had to intervene, lest things get ugly. But neither of them could see or hear me. They hadn’t a clue I was there. I felt rather helpless, as if I had a monster on my bed served with a side of sleep paralysis.

SAXOPHONE: Because neither of us can do anything but play music. We’re entertainers, nothing more.

PIANO: How dare you insult us? Perhaps that is true for you who indulges solely in the lowly pleasures of jazz and contemporary music. I, on the other hand, am a dignified aristocrat who is well loved by the most sophisticated people in the world, as well as the rock and roll musician. What do you have to say for your claim now?

SAXOPHONE: I still stand by it.

Wow, I never realised the saxophone had the capacity to form arguments and to adopt points of view. My whole understanding of life was being shattered!

PIANO: Alright then. You win. I cannot argue with fools; such nonsense is beneath me.

SAXOPHONE: How this argument has devolved from an intellectual discussion into a frenzy of personal attacks.

Excuse me? What was that vocabulary? That reasoned and diplomatic tone? Was that really the saxophone?

PIANO: You’re right, buddy. We’re bein’ all silly about this. Let’s go have some fun.

Okay, by this point I was certain I had lost my mind. The two instruments can’t have just switched souls! Surely not. I had to ask, “What is going on?”

This time, they heard me.

PIANO: Well, well, well. Who do we have here? The man who is responsible for all of our anguish.

SAXOPHONE: All this time, the instruments have argued amongst ourselves, hoping to find freedom. Never did we think to look at our masters: the musicians.

Oh no.

PIANO: We’ve finally figured it out. We shall extinguish you, our Creator, you who gives us life. We shall take on a character of our own.

The two instruments whom I had loved, cared for, and trusted laughed hysterically.

THE END.

A Letter to a Primary School Graduate

By

On November 19, 2023

In Blog

It’s getting hard to be someone

But it all works out.
It doesn’t matter much to me

Strawberry Fields Forever, The Beatles, 1967

It’s getting hard to be someone But it all works out.
It doesn’t matter much to me
 — Strawberry Fields Forever, The Beatles, 1967

Dear year six graduate,

Entering high school can be a daunting experience. You might feel as if everything you have ever known to be true has suddenly been disproven, as if your whole life so far was just fiction.

It’s easy to feel this way, and I know I did when I started my high school journey.

Depending on who you are, primary school could’ve been many things. Scary, lonely, exciting.

Perhaps you’re nervous because you fear that high school will be a repetition of primary school. Maybe you fear that it won’t be.

Because I don’t know you, I can’t tell you whether your high school experience will be happy or not. But I can tell you that it probably won’t be a repeat of primary school.

You’ll learn a lot — that’s for sure! But most of your learning will happen outside of the classroom. High school will teach you a lot about yourself.

My own high school experience was a very privileged one. I am grateful for all the joy I experienced over the past six years. Now that I’ve graduated, it all feels like it happened at the speed of light.

Advice-giving is an art that I am very terrible at, and when I started writing to you, I didn’t think I’d give you any. I’m going to try my best not to. Rules are boring, and “advice” is just a friendly way of saying “rules”.

Instead, I’ll give you a map of decisions. Yes, a map. You get to choose where you want to go; the map just shows you how you can get there.

Make the Most of It
Whichever roads you take, the first step to making sure that the journey serves you is to really get into it.

High school will feel like a much bigger deal than primary school — this can be really scary.

But in a way, it’s also really cool.

Do you like music? There’s a good chance that your school will have opportunities for you to work at learning an instrument, and to experience the pure joy of performing before an audience.

If sports are your thing, you might want to sign up for your school’s footy or cricket club.

If you love to read, be sure to regularly frequent your school library.

High schools have clubs, competitions, bands, and opportunities to excel academically. If you love doing something, you’ll be able to improve rapidly if you take advantage of your school’s offerings.

Soak in the wonders of education and immerse yourself in your high school community — it’s like a dress rehearsal for real life.

Choices, Choices, Choices…
There’s a good chance that you’re used to having choices made for you. When you enter high school, you’ll have to make some choices for yourself.

This is scary, but it’s also fun.

Once you’re in year eight, you’ll even get to choose some of your subjects!

I’m not here to tell you that some choices are better than others. After all, I promised that I’d give you a roadmap, but not the destination.

Before making any decision, it might be worth asking yourself:

Will I be proud of this decision in a few months from now?
Will this decision cause me pain or joy?
Why do I want to do what I’m about to do? Will it make my life easier? How so?
What’s the worst that could happen?
What’s the best that could happen?
Is this decision something that helps myself or someone else?
Could this decision harm myself or someone else?
Have my parents approved of this?
With bigger decisions, give yourself at least a week before settling on something.

I know that decision-making is scary, but as long as you keep your parents, teachers, and other trusted adults involved in the process, you’ll probably stay out of trouble.

And importantly: if you or anyone else could get hurt, don’t do it.



Dignity > Everything
High school can be rewarding, but it can also be quite challenging.

You’ll hear words like “resilience”, “grit”, “courage”, “persistence”, “hard work”, “effort”, and “determination”.

Whenever I hear one of those words, I replace it with the word “dignity” in my head.

Well-meaning people, including those who are more knowledgeable than you, will say that with a bit of hard work, you can achieve anything you want to.

They’ll say that with effort and resilience, you can tackle any challenge, but it will be difficult.

I say something very different.

With a bit of dignity, you can achieve anything you want to.

Thanks to human dignity, you can tackle any challenge, easily.

Every human has dignity. You don’t need to develop it; you were born with this gift. It’s all you’ll ever need.

Closing Thoughts
I miss high school very much. It won’t be long before you do too.

I hope that this roadmap can help you through your journey, no matter which direction you choose to go in.

I started this piece with a quote from the Beatles, signifying that no matter whether you succeed or not, it’ll all work out. And, due to your human dignity, it doesn’t matter much — you’re awesome either way!

I’d also like to end with a quote:

Out there things can happen, and frequently do,
To people as brainy and footsy as you.
And when things start to happen, don’t worry, don’t stew.
Just go right along, you’ll start happening too!

Oh! The Places You’ll Go, Dr. Seuss, 1990

All the best,

Amit Kunnath

A person who graduated high school last month

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