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The day before the annual day function at my school, all the students were asked to wear the school uniform. After coming home, I listened to some music through the crystal radio (which I had built using a few inexpensive items). I switched stations and was informed that Jupiter would be visible today. So, I went outside, taking with me the homemade reflecting telescope that I had built the previous weekend. I was fortunate enough to see Jupiter and the rings of Saturn. The next day, I went to school wearing the uniform, but I was stupefied when I saw that nobody else was wearing the uniform. Eventually, I learned that the teachers were solely educating us about the school rules, but they were aware that no one would be wearing the uniform. Since I have autism and was an introvert without any friends at that time, I obviously didn't know that everyone else would be wearing casual dress. As I entered the school, everybody stared at me and I felt very uncomfortable. Then one of my classmates came towards me and asked why I was wearing the school uniform. The word "uniform" kept resonating in my mind, and suddenly, at that moment, a thought materialized. I replied, "But nobody else is wearing the uniform today, so look around you. It is no longer a uniform, at least not for today." And then everyone smiled at me. This incident happened during my 10th standard annual day function when I was 14 years old.
When you're older, you'll make sisters. Sisters that will be dear to you. Women that you'll never let go of, never say goodbye to. When you'e older, you'll be a megastar. Helping people is what you do best, that is surely to be your legacy. Whatever field you choose, God will smile and bless those that you touch. When you're older, you'll dance with someone special. Someone special is someone that you should keep, so don't do something stupid for them to leave. When you're older, people will love you. When you come, they will shower flowers on the ground you walk on. When you want a favor, they'll do it right away, forbid any questions asked. When you're older, childish things won't bother you. You are good and alright with and by yourself. When you're older, peace is the norm. Knowing who you are shouldn't be as hard as pinning a cloud from the high sky, but as familiar as the words that roll out of your mouth. When you're older, you'll take care of your parents. Talk with them, laugh with them, share with them, all of that. Show your thanks through the work you do for them. Show your thanks through the work you do because of them. When you're older, you'll get closer with God. Your sisters will be on the same journey, as you would be, and daily conversations with the Most High will come naturally in your spirit and renew your flesh. So when you're older, you'll get closer with God. When you're older, you will simply experience true happiness. The kind that is not dependent on any thing or any one. The kind that is not dependent on any substance or circumstance, but the kind of happiness that comes purely within.
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By the end of June 1966, I was married, and my brother was planning his college graduation which would take place in just a few short weeks. I didn't think life could get any better. Then to the horror of my parents, a letter for my brother, who was twenty-one years old was delivered the Monday after his graduation. He, like thousands of other young men, was being drafted. He reported for duty. My friend Eddie had the same situation but one year later. Being only seventeen when he graduated from high school, he didn't get his notice until his eighteenth birthday. My brother and Eddie saw their share of battle and horror. When my brother came home, I honestly believe that part of his mind stayed in Vietnam. He had nightly nightmares. Eddie, on the other hand, didn't make it home. I still remember the day, while visiting my mom, I slid open her living room window and saw a green Jeep pulled to a house a few doors down the street. We hurried downstairs and sat on the front steps of our apartment house and soon heard Eddie's mother's screams. “My boy! My boy! Oh my God, My boy!” Her sobbing wails still echo in my mind, even after all these years. The entire neighborhood attended Eddie's funeral. Yes, my brother attended. He thought it appropriate, but he didn't wear his uniform. He attended as Eddie's friend not a fellow-soldier. Frankie thought, that while Eddie was having a military funeral, his parents didn't need to see more uniforms around, especially on a friend who made it home. I can still see him hugging Eddie's mom and she hung on to him fiercely as they both cried. Ironically, Eddie's parents and mine were best friends while they were teens. I guess it just made sense that Eddie and I would become close friends. No, we weren't a couple – we were just a couple of kids who were friends and hung out together. We both loved to have fun and very often would listen to my small transistor radio and with the rest of our friends, sing (or try to) whatever song was playing. Our voices were loud, VERY loud, but all too often, off-key. Didn't matter. We were having fun. Eddie always wore a watch and on weekends, could be seen checking the time regularly. Saturday night was a “date night” for his parents and Eddie being the wonderful son he was, made sure he was home by 7PM to take care of younger brother so his parents could go out and catch a late movie. That was Eddie – full of life, laughter, and love. He was a friend to everyone who knew him. He never had one bad word to say about anyone. He was kind, compassionate, loving, and eager to smile. He, like so many others, was too young to die. Eddie died on May 21, 1969, and even though it's been fifty-four years, he's never been forgotten, not by his family or his friends. We think of him often and while we're all proud of him and the sacrifice he paid for his country; we are also bitter because he was just a kid - “just another casualty.” As far as I'm concerned, he was not then, is not now, and never will be “just another casualty.” Just like other families and friends, I will never, I repeat NEVER consider Eddie's name “just another name on the wall.”
She was abruptly awakened from a rare sleep by what sounded like a crash under her bed. She hid under the covers, which provided a warm, protected feeling, as she froze in fear. She was still curious as to what caused such a bang despite the intense fear coursing through her. It didn't help that she'd been having terrible nightmares lately about monsters under her bed. Childish, she realised. She felt a bolt of courage strike through her like a flurry of lightning, and she nudged her covers—her safety—away and set her feet on the chilly wooden floor. Her double bed was spacious enough for people to sleep underneath it; a large monster could easily do the same. She quickly ducked and peered under the bed after taking a deep breath. She backed away, breathing deeply, sliding under her duvet covers. She shook and shivered under the sheets. Meredith whimpered as her mother flicked the light switch; darkness consuming the room. Meredith turned her head to see a shadow when a large hand grabbed her mouth. No one will hear you scream, and nobody can help you right now, a muffled cry rang out throughout the spotless space. It resembled a hospital ward the most. Her knees were hit in the back by a chair. Under the large hand, she barricaded her teeth in an effort to free herself from their hold. When Meredith unintentionally fell into it, it laughed menacingly. She made no attempt to stand because she knew she would lose this battle. She was thrown to the ground, her eyes welling up with tears. Finally, with fists raised, the shadow moved to step into the light. Meredith woke up with a yelp and a jump. The worst part was probably that. To her mother, Meredith exclaimed. "The dream always comes to an abrupt end!" Meredith became irritated with her mother's lack of interest and stormed back to her bedroom as she simply nodded and busied herself around the office. She sighed as she sat on the bed. The monster's laughter. She is positive that she just heard it next to her. She clenched her hair in agony and cried, "I'm not crazy, am I? She mumbled. It responded, "certainly not," as a giggle broke out. Meredith spun around in surprise to find nothing there. Even as months passed, Meredith's "insanity" only grew worse. She even missed weeks of school because it was so frustrating. Her mother expressed surprise and even concern. Meredith murmured to herself as she held her dry lips in front of her coffee mug. She sighed as the mug became empty. Her head shook and her eyes fluttered shut, disrupting her sleep. The TV's glowing light illuminated the tiny space as she fumbled with her fingers and nibbled at the couch. Meredith slipped into a deep sleep and a nightmare in less than a minute. Meredith was bound to a chair by a rope around her back and her legs were fastened to the chair's feet. The thing said with amusement, "You're back." Meredith's lips quivered with a sob. “don't …. I beg you not to hurt me. Meredith pushed herself further into the back of the seat as the monster began to claw her. Her abdomen was freed when the monster's claws tore the ropes holding her body together. In the light next to her, a knife shone. She picked up the blade after covertly lowering her hand. The monster was preoccupied looking in the opposite direction, muttering quietly to themselves. She slowly pushed the knife against the monsters back, the tip slightly grazing their clothing. A whimper escaped the monster's mouth, “don't please don't.. Hurt me” it sounded like herself, she thought. Meredith had had enough with this madness and insanity. Although she has never considered herself to be a murderer, this situation could influence anyone. The monster's knees were thrown to the ground when she kicked the backs of them. She turned the monster over so that, but for the darkness of the space, she could see the monster's face. Meredith inserted the knife into their chest because it was too dark for her to see anything other than the outline of the body. The monster's muscles tightened around the blade, making it difficult for her to pull the knife out again. She kept slicing and stabbing the body. The stomach, legs, face, chest, and throat were completely dismembered. As she stood over the lifeless body below her, Meredith trembled in terror. The shaky breathing had stopped, and the squelching of the blade being pressed through her skin had also stopped. She gasped and woke up only to witness the end of her own life. She lay motionless, nearly dead, with a knife next to her and identical cuts and gashes all over her body. Her surroundings were covered in blood, and the metallic smell made her feel even queasy. She tried moving and screaming. She had no chance. All this time, she was the monster. She knew she would lose the battle.
Growing up, Sarah always dreamed of making a difference in the world. She was the kind of person who was always looking for ways to help others, whether it was volunteering at the local food bank or organizing a fundraiser for a deserving cause. Despite facing numerous challenges and setbacks throughout her life, Sarah never let anything stand in the way of her dreams. She worked hard, studying late into the night and taking on multiple jobs to pay her way through college. After earning her degree, Sarah dedicated herself to a career in public service. She spent years working on the front lines of social justice, fighting to make the world a better place for all people. Through her tireless efforts, Sarah was able to bring about real change in her community. She helped to establish programs that provided meals to the hungry, housing for the homeless, and education for underserved children. But Sarah's greatest accomplishment came when she was chosen to lead a team of international aid workers on a mission to bring medical care and supplies to a remote village in Africa. It was there that she saw firsthand the transformative power of compassion and generosity, and she returned home with a renewed sense of purpose and determination. Today, Sarah is an inspiration to all who know her. She continues to work tirelessly to make the world a better place, and her efforts have touched the lives of countless people around the globe. Despite all that she has achieved, Sarah remains humble and grateful, always remembering that it is by working together that we can create a brighter future for all. Sarah's work did not go unnoticed, and she soon found herself in high demand as a speaker and advocate for social justice issues. She traveled the world, sharing her story and inspiring others to take action and make a difference in their own communities. As she spoke to groups large and small, Sarah's message was always the same: that each and every one of us has the power to create positive change in the world. She encouraged her listeners to follow their passions and pursue their dreams, no matter how big or small they may seem. Sarah's own dream was to establish a nonprofit organization that would provide ongoing support and resources to those in need. And with the help of a dedicated team of volunteers and supporters, she was able to do just that. The organization, called "Heart of Gold," quickly became known for its innovative programs and its commitment to making a lasting impact on the lives of those it served. Whether it was providing disaster relief to communities in need or offering job training and mentorship to young people, Heart of Gold was making a difference in countless lives. And through it all, Sarah remained at the heart of the organization, always leading with compassion, kindness, and a fierce determination to make the world a better place. As she looks back on all that she has accomplished, Sarah knows that her journey has just begun. There is still so much work to be done, and she is more committed than ever to making a difference in the world. But no matter what the future may hold, Sarah knows that she has already made a lasting impact, and for that, she is truly grateful. As the years went by, Sarah's work continued to grow and expand, touching the lives of even more people around the world. She was constantly amazed by the generosity and compassion of those who supported Heart of Gold, and she knew that it was because of their efforts that the organization was able to achieve so much. But Sarah also knew that there was still so much more to be done, and she was determined to keep pushing forward. She worked tirelessly, never taking a day off and always striving to find new and innovative ways to make a difference. And her hard work paid off. Heart of Gold continued to grow and thrive, and Sarah was able to see the positive impact of her efforts in the lives of the people she served. She knew that she was making a real difference in the world, and that was all the motivation she needed to keep going. As Sarah approached her 50th birthday, she knew that she had accomplished so much, but she also knew that there was still so much more work to be done. She had no plans to slow down, and she was as passionate and dedicated as ever to the cause of helping others. Looking back on her journey, Sarah knew that she had been blessed with many gifts and opportunities. But she also knew that it was her own hard work and determination that had brought her to where she was today. And she was grateful for every challenge and every setback, knowing that they had only made her stronger and more resilient. Sarah's story is one of hope and inspiration, and it is a reminder to us all that with hard work and determination, anything is possible. No matter what challenges we may face, we have the power to make a difference in the world, and to create a brighter and more compassionate future for all.
I was on my way to my new apartment one day when I saw her. I wouldn't have noticed her in the swarming crowd if she didn't extend her hands out to me when I passed her. I didn't stop at first and she got busy on other people. But I went back and gave her a quarter. Her face lighted up. She looked at me with her wrinkled lips parted into a big smile revealing her yellow crooked teeth. It was only a quarter, I thought. When I saw her again, she was sitting on a newspaper spread out on the pavement eating rice from a paper bag. All her belongings which included a bottle of water, a paper plate, a bowl with some coins in it and dirty rags were gathered around her. She didn't look up when I passed. She was too busy gobbling up her meal. I stopped in front of her and handed her a bag of apples. She beamed. She gazed at me with an open mouth and then took the apples. The hopelessness in her eyes made a little space for joy. She said a prayer and then asked God to bless me. Her crinkled hands were thanking me. She watched me walk back all the way with a huge smile on her creased face. In the evening, she was munching on the apples. I guess she liked them. Weeks went by and I gave her a quarter every day. She was always so happy to see me, even at times I didn't have anything to give her. Others like her never stayed in the same place but she could always be found under the old sturdy tree by the parking lot. In rains, drenched from head to toe, she found shelter under a plastic sheet. I wondered what was her story? Where did she come from? Had her life always been like this? Or was it because some misfortune had befallen her and left her homeless? Did she have any family? Where were they? Or was she all alone in the world? A month before when I was leaving for work, she was still at her old spot but something was different. She was not in her usual stained loose old clothes anymore, rather she was wearing a neat dress that was not shredded from anywhere. Instead of the newspaper, there was a basket full of ripe and fresh apples spread out on a mat in front of her. She waved when she saw me. The concrete cracks on her face looked a bit loosened. She offered me some apples. When I tried to pay her, she refused. Apparently, she had saved up all my quarters and started her own business. She did not want my money anymore but told me that I can take as much apples as I wanted from her and whenever I wanted them.
I. Pebreru 2022 II. San Fernando Train Station Museum III. Yng Tsina ampo pa ing Rusya a Estatua IV. Metiorite V. Yng Sculpture cung Meteorite I. Pebreru 2022 Pebreru 2022, Aganakca que yng metung cung estatua, Dapat cu neng kuanan, Baiu ya pa manga-paroro, Ali sana. Pebreru 2022, Kuanan que king San Fernando Train Station Museum yng canacung estatua, Migluat ya mu ring migdatun karin, Paca-Aircon, Malaut ia king dinat ampopa keng alimum. Pebreru 2022, Aganakca que yng metung cung estatua, War machines lang balamu robot lang miyasawa. Metung a Babai ampopang metung a lalaki, Makasake la keng higanting robot a alakdan, Yng Tsina ampopa in g Rusya ing pamagat na ning canakung estatua. Pebreru 2022, Kuanan cu ne ing king San Fernando Train Station Museum yng canacung estatua, Cailangan cu neng kwanan uning magumpisa ne ing Construction na ning |Philippine National Railways carin. Cailangan cu ne mu ring kwanan ing kanakung obra- Uning midame ya ampopang milaco ya ing Storage Area na ning Museo- Pakalat-kalat ne mu ing ikanakung obra. Makabalandra ya, Sinapak neng alikabuk, Aldo't uranan ya. II. San Fernando Train Station Museum Himpilang Daang-Bakal ng San Fernando, Daang bakal, Mettalic road, Yng English cu, Mamilosipu. Atchu ia Karin ing metung kareng obra maestro cu, kumbaga, Matung caring Major works, Major works a statua cu. III. Yng Tsina ampo pa ing Rusya a statua Manibat angyang mica-Internet keni kekami, Pane cu nong gu-google deng alwang Bansang arena. Kalupa ne ning Pilipinas, Pare-parehu lang atchu keng Asya. Manibat anyang mica-internet keni kekami, Libri-libri cung mamasyal- karening adwang bansang areni. Yng C.G.T.N naning Tsina, R.T. news channel naning Rusya, Mapa queng website da o kareng Youtube channels da, Pane cung manalbe, Pakibaluan cu ing malilyari karela, Deng gawan da ampopang planu da. IV. Metiorite Queng Kapampangan, Taklang Batwin, Istung ilimbag me king lengguahing Tagalog, Filipino- Tae ng Bituin. Queng lengguahing Ingles, Star Shit. Manibat angyang mica-Internet keni kekami, Mangapanusignan cu buri keng pamanuklas, Keng canacung e milalakong Capanigluan. Mapanalbe kung nanu-nanung klasing Batu. Paniglon kula reng miyaliwa-liuang kule, Ampopang aske da, Miras keng punting mangolekta kung Batu. Lalu na reng “Metal Ores”. Batung mika- samut a nanu-nanung kalasing Bakal. Pati Batu-Balani ampopang Taklang Batwin. Pauli na siguru keng eskultur cu, Kaya buri kula murin salat ampopang, Pakibalwan cula tibe. V. Yng Sculpture cung Meteorite Anyang milabasang banua, 2019, Memasyal la ri ima cu- Queng San Fernando Train Station Museum, Edacu kayabe, Ila mu di uali kung babai, Ampopa reng adua ng anac. Kabira, Anyang dintang no quing bale, Eda ku inabisuan man, Dela de kauli- Yng Meteorite cung estatua. Ing sabi ng Ima cu dela ne ing statua cuuning ikit neng maka-kalat nemu keng Museu, Ing pakibat cu pota eman makakalat, Pota atin mung aliwang maka-exhibit, Pakibat ng Ima ku, “ali” Pota pauli ng ning magumpisa nalang magobra reng tiga- PNR carin, Kaya megdisisyun nakung kwanan ke ing estatua kung Tsina ampopang Rusya. - Don Reich de Chiron
She does not envy the heat that radiates from their cores through their pores, onto their skin. She's always prided herself on her ability to feel cold at the tips of her hair as her heartbeat stills. Her core radiates the cold from the night air after another door was slammed shut in her face. She banged hard on the wood until her hands were raw, ignoring the sting of the wind slapping her skin within the storm of her mind. The winds have never been kind. They'd move fast making sure they cast the last of any memory of a happier time like grandma's water recipe with lemon and lime. The only water there is now is the tsunami of her thoughts crashing loudly against her brain, driving her insane. She is now reliant on music to make them silent for a moment to sneak a peek at the building so see if anyone has opened. But the door remains shut. She bangs harder the splinters cut deeper but even the window panes remain sealed. ` She can wail, scream, panic, repeat Her heart can shatter again and again Into smithereens, But her cries fall upon deaf ears There is no room for her… Her and her messiness. And the doors shall remain shut. She will remain broken And alone And cold Outside.
I love my husband's family. When my husband and I first started dating, his family treated me as though I were already one of them. My husband became a widower the year before and I'd been single for much longer than that. Second marriages aren't always easy but when you have a family of in-laws that open their arms and accept you immediately, it makes life a lot simpler. While a few of his brothers were on the quiet side and others were more extroverted, they all were friendly and loving. The only exception was his sisters. None of them were introverted in the slightest way. When I say we were one big happy family, it's said with the absolute truth. Through the years, as each sibling's health weakened, communication became more important. The problem was that while they enjoyed speaking to each other, my husband is not a telephone person. In fact, he really hates speaking on the phone and avoids it as much as possible. Time past and now there are four of them left which includes my husband. While in my own mind, he should make more of an effort to call his sisters and brother, in his mind, he will when he has time. My husband is 80 and retired. I insist he can make time. He reminds me that he's too busy doing the gardening and general maintenance on the house. We don't live in a run-down, ramschackled house. It's 20 years old and in very good condition. He can take 20 minutes out and call his siblings. Unfortunately, he doesn't. I do. His remaining brother calls at least three times a week and leaves messages such as: “Hey, wanted to say hello and check in. Call back.” “It's me again. Haven't heard from you. Hope everything's ok. Call back.” “Uh, what's going on? Is something wrong? Call back.” “Come on, really? What's your problem? Call me back today! Damn it.” I give my husband the messages. He ignores them. No, he isn't angry with his brother. Their relationship is fine. It's my husband's problem with phones. The other problem is that his brother is an invalid, living in a nursing home, and has nothing to do. My husband keeps himself busy with yard work, and other things around the house. He never was one to sit still. There lies a good portion of the problem. His brother doesn't understand why Rich won't call him back immediately or why he doesn't answer the phone in the first place. Rich says his brother should find a hobby to occupy his time. Today, I found another messages on my husband's phone. I said, “Don't shoot the messenger but please listed to your brother's message.” He did. Then he grabbed the phone and said, “That's it! I'm going to straighten this out once and for all!” I tried reminding him that his brother lived over a thousand miles away, has no one to visit him, is easily bored. He's just looking to have someone to talk to. My husband remined me that he has things to do. One of his sisters called but is still trying to get used to her new cell phone. She kept disconnecting herself. She'd call and lose the connection. I'd call her back and she'd lose the connection. This went on for fifteen minutes and then I just didn't return her calls. I might try again tomorrow. I saw no point in telling this to my husband since there really wasn't anything to say. After that bit of thunder-rolling atmosphere involving my brother-in-law, I received a text from my other sister-in-law stating she was out of the hospital and staying with her daughter. I walked out the back door and said, “Jane called.” Before I could relay the message, he looked at me with daggers coming out of his eyes. I interrupted him. “Hey, just a quick message,” I began. “She's fine, out of the hospital, and staying with her daughter.” “Oh, ok” he said and calmed down. I know tonight, once dinner is done, he'll call his sister. Maybe I can even get him to call his other sister. At least, they'll be quieter conversations than the one he had earlier. Oh boy! It seems the older we get, the less patience we have. There are times when I could smack Alexander Bell on the head and say, “Why did you ever invent such a troublesome instrument?” There are so many times it comes in so handy but then there are other times!! As I walked away toward the house, my first thought was, “I'm not getting paid enough for this.” Then I realized, “Hey, wait! I'm not getting paid at all!”
I'm not sure if you can get hypothermia inside your home, but I left the window cracked last night, and that mere eighth of an inch nearly froze me out. The fresh air was wonderful, and I was under several layers of blankets and a goose down duvet, but seeing your breath, when you wake up is something that should be reserved for a tent in the back country. Needless to say, the first order of business was to close that window. That and turn on the space heater pointed at my recliner so I could warm up once I pulled on several layers of clothes. The day got worse. I think everything that wasn't some how plugged into a heat source, froze solid. We got down to -32 C last night with a wicked north wind to add to the problem. I had a way to warm up, and I'm grateful that closing a window made my surroundings toasty with in an hour. My truck, not so lucky. When I went in search of gas line anti freeze, because I suspect I've somehow gotten some moisture into the fuel system, I found it most places are already sold out. No delivery expect till Monday. When I think of the services available to me now, like groceries that come to your door, and easily ordered help to get your vehicle started, I realized how woefully poorly prepared I was. When I was a child, we had supplies of all the basics, like flour, sugar, rice and potatoes stored on shelves in the pantry or in the basement. It doesn't seem necessary in this day and age, until you don't have a vehicle, and you don't want to spend the extra for convenience. II'm rambling, but you get my conundrum? I'll use the services because I trapped myself, but I will put some thought into making sure I have the basics in my kitchen cupboards. Mother nature can have her way with the weather, but it's up to me to out smart her to survive without emptying my bank account.
Once upon a time, Lucifer was the ‘Ark Angel' supreme to all the others, until his pride sent him out, the loss of his glory never to return. From then onwards, ‘Day' and ‘Night' divorced. The ‘Morning' separated from the ‘Evening', ‘Darkness' from ‘Light'. ‘Coldness' became parallel to ‘warmth' ‘Heaven' separated from the ‘Earth' and to this day ‘Tears' do not see eye to eye with ‘laughter' nor does ‘Love' and 'Hate' which explains the reason as to why ‘Mother' left ‘Father' The very separation of your ‘Parents'. Now with the hand of the clock becoming much louder than ever before, is a clear time-up signal that we won't be together in the next life. One thing is clear, our daughter will always bring us together. And since goodbye is not a desirable gesture, I will simply walk away without a word To continue the ‘Journey' without you.
As the families gather all around, Together, yet alone, Tears fill the eyes of all who visit Here, in the Garden of Stone. We're remembering all the days gone by And the happiness we had known, While we walk with sadness in our hearts Through the Garden of Stone. The Flags are waving proudly, But at half-staff they are flown. They wave for our quiet heroes Within the Garden of Stone. They lived with war's torments and nightmares And never felt more alone. Now, they finally found peace within the walls Of their personal Garden of Stone. The years have left us fond memories, But the emotions that are shown Are mixed with our pride and yet, bitterness Due to the Garden of Stone. The pain will remain within me, No matter how much I have grown, As I kneel beside my loved one, who Lies in the Garden of Stone. But a voice deep inside offers comfort, Saying that from the Garden of Stone, God is leading our fallen heroes as The soldiers make their final march home.
‘crink crink' a pink Ladybird zoomed past the Renault Duster. “That's the fifth… no…sixth bicycle that overtook me today” told himself the sexagenarian who considered himself the soundest driver in the whole mortal realm as his car's speedometer never read a two-digit number starting with five. As he took the sharp turn near the placard that read “Faculty Parking Only”, a genuine frustration started clouding his face. A maroon Toyota had occupied the last parking slot. He muttered…probably cast some wicked spell. A crow from nowhere popped up and caricatured the Toyota's misfortune on its bonnet. As he ushered through the iron gate covered with Bougainvillea, like a wig on a carcass, he noticed an array of pink-violet-yellow shrubs lined along the corridor. He knew what it meant. The dark passage with faint yellow glows at the ends, like a prehistoric cave, occasionally got a flowery welcome like this. Today is a special day. Today is the day he retires. As he slowly turned his cabin key from 12 O'clock to 3 O'clock, a sudden gloom surged. For the last forty years, this archaic wooden door had been pushed open with a loud ‘thud'. But today it felt a bit too heavy. A sloppy hand swooped it open with a nudge. Resting his leather-satchel on the table, slowly, he walked up to the chair he held so dearly. He swiveled it around. The gold-plated Pierre Cardin was peeping through a pen stand. He reached for it. If only someone could endow this artifact with life, it would have written a story of its own. From signing the first pay-check to signing the last thesis, all those tender moments tucked inside this 6'inch metal body. He came out of his cabin and walked towards the lab. As he slid the heavy iron bolt and pushed the door, a gust of pungent stench hit his lungs. Ah! The smell of old books. He inhaled deeply. He recalled the day his first student stepped inside this room for the first time and how hard he tried to swallow the utter frustration. It was a mere storehouse then. He fondly remembered his last two students, probably because they were the age of his own two daughters. By the window, Aman had his desk. Done with updating his Facebook feed and editing the photos from his latest trip, which would shortly hit his WhatsApp status, Aman's cursor would hover over Amazon's latest shoe collection. Manoj was someone he could actually count on. He turned left. With circles around some dates, a 2018 calendar was fluttering. By its side, the chalk-board on the wall still had those scribbles by Aman. The board's frame was barely visible through the avalanche of sticky-notes glued to it. He picked up a green one. It read ‘Rajan Plumber' with a contact number. He grinned. An abrupt screech along the corridor alerted him. It reminded him of something. While bringing up two daughters rowing through adolescence to adulthood, he realized his students should also enjoy a fair share of privacy. So, one fine morning he came up with a radical solution. Instead of entering the lab like an unwelcome guest, he would stomp his boots while in the vicinity of the lab so that the students would get a message -'the terror is here, cover your misdeeds'. A fancy wall décor hung just over the entrance door. He remembered the day it came. 5th September 2017. His siesta being interrupted with a loud hammering, he peeped through the window. To his utmost surprise, Manoj was nailing a hook to hang this décor, and Aman was decorating a "Happy Teacher's Day" iced chocolate cake with candles. He was so lost down the memory lane, that a soft ‘Vasu' from Professor Samuel couldn't bring him back. ‘Vasu…Vasu? Let's go for a coffee' said his old friend, this time with a gentle tap on the shoulder. The clock struck one. As he turned the lunchbox lid slowly, his wife's earlier remarks this morning painted a broad smile on his lips. "Guess what's for the finale? The one I made you the very first day”. Condensed vapor from the lid dripped on the chapatis. As he reached for the second compartment, he already knew what it contained. Prawn-malai curry. And he was right. By the time he cast a final look at his empty cabin, the sun had long taken his farewell. A cool, soothing breeze passed by. He slowly marched towards the exit. A heavy leg and a heavier heart. Relaxing his back at the driving seat, he got lost once again. He had been around for forty years. So many things had changed and so many didn't. New faces, new bricks, old roads, old rocks. life went on. Like a cigarette. You light it up, and its journey to an inevitable end starts, burning slowly. Soon a layer of grey covers the top. You stroke it gently. The ashes get carried away with the wind. A new front comes up. Same with us. Time passes by. Slowly. Old days fade away, their memories lost in the deep. Comes a new beginning. Every day. You actually don't retire, you re-join. For a new cause, a new purpose.