Ted Lasso. You must be real.

Sometimes, when life throws curveballs, we need a little something to lift our spirits. That something for me has been "Ted Lasso." It's more than just a TV show; it's a delightful escape and a reservoir of life lessons that help me get through tough thoughts, like times.

Ted Lasso, an American football coach who ends up managing AFC Richmond, a fictional English soccer team, brings some unexplainable positivity and heart to every episode. He's the epitome of perseverance and patience. Patience, actually. Watching Ted face the unknown with a smile and a "let's do this" attitude reminds me that even when I'm out of my depth, staying persistent can make all the difference.

Oh Ted! Your humility and nobility, and humor, is insane. How could you treat everyone with respect and kindness, no matter how they're treating you? (I picked my knife on Nate!) You have been a game-changer for me in my life. In a world where ego and competition can run high, your approach is a refreshing reminder to stay grounded and kind.

Anyway...Ted's resilience must inspire you. Despite facing a barrage of challenges, both personal and professional, he keeps moving forward with a positive outlook. He plays the game. "Win or lose, doesn't matter. Bow wow!" It's a powerful lesson in not letting setbacks define us. And then there's the way he builds relationships with his team, turning a group of individuals into a family. The power of friendship and unity! 

Even when people are throwing "wankers" at him or using him for their own gains, Ted doesn't let it change who he is. Kindness isn't just a trait; it's a strength, no?

The characters in Ted Lasso are wonderfully complex. Rebecca's transformation from an antagonist to a supportive ally, Nate's journey through guilt and redemption, and the camaraderie among the football players all add layers to the show. While I do have a bit of a gripe with Roy's lack of composure or the obnoxious weight of his shoulders, it serves as a reminder that everyone has their flaws and that growth is an ongoing process.

The filmmaking and screenplay of "Ted Lasso" draw me into finding parallels with other great TV shows. The creators, Jason "Ted" Sudeikis, Bill Lawrence, Joe Kelly, and Brendan Hunt, have crafted a world that feels heartwarming (not so authentic, but I will leave that debate to myself). The use of Richmond as the backdrop adds to the charm, and the seamless blend of humor and drama instantly lightens my burden. The writing is sharp, and the character development is superb, making each episode a joy to watch.

I have to love "Ted Lasso," it is now my go-to for positivity and wisdom. 

I am still mad about how Ted ended up in London from Wichita. He should have landed in real. 

A musical note

Love beyond the life

It was trapped in a long and narrow crack in the rock, flirting with the gentle wind. He bent down to tie his shoelace that untied itself in a tiring loop. He secured it this time; then raised his hand to flex some muscle. It went unnoticed, that pearl-white sheet of paper, still playing the flirt. He barely noticed it, a habit lost on that fateful night.

He took a step forward and plugged the dangling earphone bud into his ear. He continued until he heard a faint whistle from behind him, surprised. “Could be the lush green trees whistling into the soothing blue sky,” he thought, convincingly. He tapped on Ella Fitzgerald's beautiful picture — she looking into the sky, as if to jazz his mood instantly — on his glossy phone screen and whistled away to silence the nature around him. A few hums later, he realized he left his bag behind and turned around to pick it up. The rustle continued, this time louder, as the trees swayed from side to side as if to seek revenge against the wind. The blue turned grey, hastily, as a cloudburst loomed.

He walked himself towards the door. His other hand hurt as it numbed in his arm sling, pouched in seething pain. It was only about a while ago that his fingers moved to help him do his chores. Although his lonely life taught him that nothing could fracture his grit. A ghastly mishap that night, weeks ago, almost killed his will, to live and play, to love and laugh.

He pulled a key from his pouch. “Neat, this fracture has given me some safe pockets!” He shouldered his bag and locked his door, the key sliding in again, deep and safely close to his shoulder. As he stepped out, he tripped on his Trumpet and fell, thanks to his lace that went loose.

Then. It was then the sheet of paper tickled his nose. He could not let it out of his ignorant sight. He pulled it from the crack and out it came in one piece. 

“I thought I lost you on that fateful night. I knew nothing could save me. I so wanted you to live… to live and play, to love and laugh. If you ever get to read this, then I’d be the happiest one among all the fallen around me. I hope you get well soon and continue to live your passion. And please know that I will always love you…for letting me drive your car that you purchased with your hard-earned money. Forgive me, my love. Play on, please."

Thus, this!

Knock my block off

It is the time when the deep-rooted frustration wrings those brain cells – to act ‘sooner,’ before the very same brain triggers the palm to strangle the neck. The feeling’s sudden and often growing each day; to crawl to every breathing part of the body until this little act comes along.

I do not recollect when my last post came through. The post on the blog — that claims to be a paradise — has been lurking around the corner for a painfully long time; the corner of the mind, I mean to say, and is indeed far away from its intended cozy home – the internet. Or, in other words, an ABC product. Oh, ‘cozy’ did I say? How deceived and gullible could the post be for a title I’d given a decade ago!

Nevertheless, I tapped the ends of my fingers to discharge any dust that’d come in the way of my writing. But, to my much feared agony, I hit a block. No sooner had I started counting time up on my therapeutic act than the demonic-eyed hurdles came calling.

I took my palms and arms off the white-top table, only to realize that I’d painted it black with sweat while battling my block. I pulled my chair back and closed my eyes for soliloquy.

Write…mmm…how about ‘grammar in speech’? That’s a good start.

No. I’m writing. Hunting for fun and fact. Liberation.

Hear me. Technology and truce. Conspiracy and crime. Hypocrisy and health. Fraud and finance. Love and Hate?

Out of boundaries. Zilch.

My thoughts crawled further up my brain. They sat up high enough for a fair view of the world. I shot their ideas down. They resumed, again.

Creativity. Narrate a photograph. Colors and hues. Stare for a story.

Go on.

A picture speaks a thousand words. Your words are yours. Read like no other. Tell a story.

I don’t have a picture.

OK! Close your eyes.

They are...closed.

Now, knock us off your head. Open your eyes. Open up.

I stood up. My eyes were closed still. I counted to zero to blink them open.

I don’t remember if there was ever a window behind my table. I drew the curtains and looked out – for a beautiful morning, the air filled with the fragrance of chaotic life. 

Thoughts seemed to have silenced themselves.

My post seemed to have taken an amoebic shape already. The clutches within felt loosened. I tapped my fingers.

Tick…tick…

And thus, this!

When the lump gets cleared

Plagued by this

Ron woke up to a lump in his throat. “Oh boy! What a night! What a dream! Would I have a bad day?” He frowned. He hesitated to rub his eyes and see the morning light. He got off his bed and dragged his body to the bathroom. He looked himself in the mirror and saw blurred flashes of the day he would live.

“I am coming over. I have to talk. Are you back from your nighter?” he asked Rob. “Yes. Come. I no sleep. Bad time. No problem, you come. We talk,” Rob said.

Rob has been one of Ron’s closest pals. They hailed from the same town but grew up in different cities until 25 years later when they happened to bag jobs in the same city. Rob has had relationship troubles and spent time mulling over what went wrong. “Nothing. I perfect. Girl nice but don’t know,” he always told himself.

Ron knocked on Rob’s door. “Come in,” Rob said.

“Isn’t it funny, Rob? This was the exact same place where I tripped over and fell off my bicycle and crashed into your door the last time I was here. “

“Looks like that hurts still?”

“Yes. That’s why I got a Vespa,” Ron said with a straight face.

“Not understand. Anyway, what’s up?”

Ron walked into the kitchen and made a cup of tea for himself. “Black’s better.” He explained to Rob why tea without milk is perfect to face a longish day especially when anxiety preempts well-made plans.

“I not understand. Anyway what’s up?” Rob asked again.

“I woke up with a lump in my throat,” began Ron.

“Oh, need medical attention?” Rob asked.

“You really don’t understand, do you? It means I’m bothered by something.”

“What’s problem?”

“I don’t know!” Ron was troubled , again, by Rob’s simple ask. He fell silent and continued to trouble himself. Rob continued to have his tea with skimmed milk.

“I leave you alone.” Rob walked into his bedroom and began searching for his favorite book The Plague by Albert Camus.

“It is here.” Ron came in later with the book in his hand. He didn’t mind showing his moist-eyed face to Rob. “I picked it up from her.”

“I gave her?”

“Yes.” Ron said. “’I know that man is capable of great deeds. But if he isn't capable of great emotion, well, he leaves me cold.’” 

"'For who would dare to assert that eternal happiness can compensate for a single moment's human suffering.'" They exchanged quotes. “Great book, no?” Rob said. Ron agreed.

“But you two talk?” Rob was desperate to know about Ron’s equation with her.

“No. Just yesterday she asked me to hand this over to you. I didn’t talk to her about you.”

“Why?” Rob was mad at Ron. “I miserable. She must know.”

“Rob! When you have no clue why you two aren’t together, she doesn’t have to know.”

“Exactly no. I mean no reason, that is why I sick feeling like this.”

Ron’s phone buzzed. He checked his phone. He stepped out of Rob’s bedroom and came back in after exactly one minute.

“I lost my job,” Ron told Rob.

“Oh my god! You OK? Why?”

“I finally cleared my throat,” smiled Ron.

“I not understand.” Rob was confused.

Ron began. “I’ve had a few altercations with a few colleagues at work. I tried thrusting my beliefs and ethics on to those who didn’t believe they existed.

“And every time I tried hard to make them believe, I was convinced that I was being morally right and that they were in the wrong place, doing those wrong things that will eventually ruin their own lives.” Ron poured himself a glass of water. “I preached. To an extent that I worked less and invested time in teaching this set of unfits a lesson.”

“Sorry, Ron. I not understand. You preached what like?” Rob asked.

“I fell in love with a colleague. I never talked to her. Never went close to her. But there’s a set of people, her friends, who take advantage of friendship and make moves, you know what I mean? And they are my friends, too!”

“I get it. But what we got investing emotion in telling them a lesson? What prompts this? Your feeling for the girl alone or strong belief in ethics?”

“It’s both. I wanted her … wanted to strike something with her … but I didn't want them to create a situation where the inevitable is only embarrassment for them. And what’s wrong with both my feeling and the urge to prove someone wrong when what they practice is actually wrong?”

“Wrong according to you, not them, no? And this situation wrong enough for office people to fire you, not them!” Rob said. Ron fell silent again.

The next day, Ron woke up, troubled, again. He telephoned Rob, “When I met her to take your book, I didn't want to tell her about you because she looked sad, too. I can’t say for what, but she was.”

“Thank you. What you do for the office colleague? Need number of her?” Rob asked Ron.

Everyday...

Kindred

His cup of noodles was lying on the table before him. Six times before today, he shared it with that someone who he thought would last. It was an instinct – a tingling wish to share time, a slice of life, a feeling that would only be fleeting. Alas. 

Not far away, she put an end to a long conversation - over the phone - with someone who would be an enjoyable part of life. ‘A filler of a fling,’ she calls it. She never bothered the aftermath. She spent most of her time ticking off conversations and crosses with a guy. 

He forced himself out of bed, kicked the table, cracked his cup, and combed his hair – after several washes to remove her perfumed stroke against his short brown hair. He dressed himself in shorts, locked his door and walked out with the sound of music in his ears. And She dressed herself in a stunning blue gown. She kissed her roommate, Jo, and left her room asking people for The Café. 

There is a remarkable quality in every individual story, today. There are impressive clichés. Yet, there is outstanding relevance to every life around. Every time I wake up to the morning light- occasionally by the disturbing darkness – I take the mirror and ask is today different? Stepping out to spend an entire day (and night, for the chosen few) with friends, presents a new chapter to observe and learn, outclassing the traditional way of learning lessons - if life is meant to live by learning. If you lived alone, you have the mirror. If you lived with people – chosen by choice or fate - you are obliged to share a word or two, necessitated by the acts of the previous day. And that’s where it begins. An exercise. An act of meeting with people titled friends. Until this point, there is neither a smile nor a frown. 

You are, at times, dragged by the force of bond, to wrap your hands around your love, or a partner. Otherwise, you walk in to a coffee shop for a cup of steamed bliss. It is usually the former that begins the day, I am informed. And then hour-by-hour, stories unfold, own and observed. The sight of misfits walking out of a friend’s house –probably after sleep hours - presents a story.  While it might be usual, there are revelations that happen through the day. Truth isn’t there to hide, I tell myself. When I pass on the story to others, there is almost a sense of responsibility (mixed with Déjà Vu and panic) in the other’s face. However, it is a moment of relief when the other brings it in the open to keep the score clear. Not just me, even she does it. 

When the Sun is at its brightest best, there is a plan – elaborate and scheduled – to drown in the beauty of intoxication. The next few hours are spent in countdown while there are usual sights of food-sharing. You could lend one ear to tales of marriage, or simply taking the relationship to the next level, a level that had everything in the forefront already. You could lend the other ear to miseries, long standing relationships seeing time dead useless after only a handful of hours – with better ones lasting unto days or longer. Discovery can happen, anytime. 

At the fall of the night when the Sun turns bright orange and the Moon rising with its help, you could be emotion-stricken, sometimes slapped by what happened to you. But, there is beauty in realizing opened truth – what has set rises with the setting Sun. I often see me in moist eyes but buoyed by grit. You would want to grip it hard and not let it go. There is a niggling worry of inviting drooping shoulders encouraging vengeful attitude. But the feelings have had their share and the observations must be dressed to escort tomorrow, battling those niggles.

As I lifted my glass of wine, I could think of more examples characterized as unique and ‘bookmarks’. These are the kind with the power to make an impact. Some could just be thankless and traitors of trust, marooning a blossoming something. Some could just paint a smile and send a fresh lease of life. 

I am glad there are Hes and Shes to flip pages called days. They are an important part of even those unnoticed lessons we learn, gleaning and meaningful. These might just be the Kindred.

Instinct!

That chat of Instinct

Plan and prepare, when the mind is set,

I go about today with no ado.

But when the seconds unrest,

I call for a plan redo.

Annoyed and upset I sit,

Hitting a needless mindblock.

Think not, nothing is going to take a hit,

I keep hearing the inner voice mock.

Do none, talk to the one.

Sounds right let me make the call.

Hello beautiful! I’ve thought of a mission,

But restlessness sucked it all.

I, instead, thought of having a chat marathon

With you for a righteous spent of time.

Hours went by, all ears she gave.

What do I do? Suggest in dear, will you please?

Sure dear, small chaos doesn’t decide what you ought to have.

Plan and plot your thought, seconds will be a positive ease.

Honest you are, correct you do.

Instinct it is, let it be your guiding marquee.

Much she said in the shortest of dict,

Made such sense that put her in new salience.

Instinct it is I should see,

Plan and prepare would find the right track.

Content I felt, upright I sat.

Thank goodness, she was there.

For this Life and Love, I’d go to the mat.

Gladness galore was the heart’s fore.

The Line

 And The Fly

I was standing in the line when the little girl from no where crawled and tapped my feet. She, raising her head over a tough, good ninety degrees, looked at me. I might have looked like a monster holding a brown bar in my hand. I dropped it, the chocolate making a splatter design on her cute little frock. She crawled away. I lost my spot and had to restart the hope of reaching that first step to the fly.

I rejoined the growing line; the line now looking longer and bustling with cries of joy, hope and anxiety. Just behind me was a plump old man. Worried? Well, just wait a little longer. Son, this is my first time too. I guess you aren't alone! He gathered the conclusive expressions from my face shooting evident quirks.

The guy in front of me overheard the thoughts talking to me. This isn't my first time but that first step you take to fly has to sport a meaning, an explanation to our wait, a justifying statement to pain incurred through years of wait, he said. He looked young, anxious to experience the journey ahead, again, something that he would eventually do. But he meant a world in that one little sentence. I turned around to ask the old man a question - What made you wait so long? to this replied - It took an infinite amount of clock ticks to wait for this day. I dreamed a great deal but my obsession for 'the fly' gathered constant deceleration thanks to other factors that make up life. I tried tagging this process-on-the-side with my obsession but it was the fight for survival, fight for the buck that kept building hurdles. And here I am, accompanied by my gray hair, matured mind and the memory of the struggle. I tell you, it might well be an experience!

It took a while before the line granted another person a wish. It did take an awful amount of time for it to stamp its approval and grant that excitement. I began to think - What if I could give some of the wishes that meant a little-nothing to the man in front of me to the man behind me? Would the wish work the same way it did to him than it did to the other? The man behind me had the meaning, an explanation and the justification. Yet, he was on a track of hope that trailed. Why is 'the line' there to grant what I wish to have? Why would it make the wait only longer by making us wait, with questions that shoot like arrows of Jade? 

When would all this question-hope concoction dilute the anxiety and concentrate the fading and dying hope and make a perfect solution? As my eye rolled down a tear, the little girl looked up and gave me the candy-pop in her hand. I took it with a renewed sense of hope only to see the line getting longer and then vanishing from the scene. 

The flight of stairs ahead transformed to a painful spiral. The fly flew.

Written learning

Untwinned Juxtapose

There isn't any conclusion, of mine, based on substantial evidence. It is just a carefully thought, sanely momentary and possibly deceptive judgment. For me, it is a process of having two hands full and weighing one against the other; the weighing comprising an evaluation of the good against the bad, or the evolution of the good from the bad or vice-versa. Because I sometimes think of how this process has an impact on my life, be it about a person or a life('s) commodity.

-----

There is no age that can call itself 'refined' when it comes to solving a dilemma-puzzle or cracking a confusion-code. Age is that point where all the previous age-chapters have already been read. So, most of the times it is just a matter of revisiting a page and flip it only when the current code of confusion is cracked. When it comes to think about a phase that would qualify as crucial for the future, move on to the next chapter; only there we have no clue what the chapter is going to teach us.

Now, at a point, I have this duel to deal with. I have two weights to be weighed; one which is very familiar and that had already been dealt with in the past and two, which undoubtedly seems like one's twin but is an untested situation yet. With a very clear situation-sketch of one, I begin to think and weigh two against one but there is this nagging fear that I might not be able to go through with two. I decided to give it a miss. It was a clear case of that momentary judgment.

Moments hence, I begin to realize that no matter how strikingly similar two things might appear, I hate one and I miss two. Though I stand to fight the falsification of this juxtapose, I still believe that there indeed was something I learnt; something I unearthed from the past to present it to the future.

Now is the time for me to write why and what happened, to finish another chapter in life.

 

keep Gaussing

Gazing at Gaussian

That is one year less than one-quarter of a man’s theoretical lifetime; he said when someone told him that he’s turned twenty-four. I mean every degree from our pie is being eaten away and what are we! he envisaged.

The doctor slapped me thrice when my mom gave birth to me. I don’t have that memory but I have learned that that was done to encourage the baby to breathe. The baby is upside down when that is done and that is one serious smack on the ass. Funny it may sound but that is a medical technique. Or is it not? While I ponder all this, I begin to think how funnily life begins. And by an amazing act of God or Science which goes beyond any explanation, we begin to grow. The brain begins to think and to store. But it takes a ‘blow’ to erase all that. By any normal human standards of growth, we do not store anything that happens between the ages of one and three. I can recollect events since the age of four. I visualize, I sense and I feel. As a grownup, we see babies have testing tools such as the sleep and tears. Yes, there’s the mouth that is the biggest tool. How many arbit things have been tested this way: the saliva test. We did it too. And I know not why this happens. I wonder. I looked at three year old kid cover himself with a blanket to beat the cold. And how did he know that? Don’t tell me it is just observation in two years. Anyway, my crappy observations aside, ten to fifteen years go in growth. And life begins to walk the line. But troubled years begin. But joyous years begin. Two ‘but’s or let me just say a mix begins. Grow while you grow or deny yourself while you grow. But it has the hugest impact on the couple of years to come. The bad cannot be undone. The good can be done with more. So as I draw a curve with all the events that have happened, I would say there is a rise in…like..on the Y-axis. Not linear but a curvish growth, for all the ups and downs. For the remaining part, what I call as the aftermath of the first twenty years, I would like the curve to come down, the same way it raised. Isn’t this a popular belief: nothing stays at the top and that that has to come down. The sooner I see the down, the faster I try to get it up. So there is a bearing on the days to come, to fight the future, for the curve is like a bell.

Hmmm. I was on the rise last year with some memorable moments but this year I am walking down the curve. How quickly everything changes! I begin to think what fraction of life that got divided with this. I have put in the sanity for, say, six years, to see the insane events that could well last for a few months. I am searching for intervals to divide my curve. I know I got a bell. What am I at this point? And how much is left? Aah, if only I had the power of prediction!

He penned all this. I walked in to his room and happened to read what he had written. In a sleepy whisper he said name it ‘Gaussian Life’.

Deuce

Drawing a Parallel

Ron stormed into his room after having witnessed yet another day of raging activity at home. He slammed his bedroom door and buried himself into his pillow. He had been (and is) a victim of emotional torture: personal and familial. On the personal side, it is like every other teenager dealing with misunderstandings in a relationship. But being true to himself, he was furious with God who he largely trusted in.

Karen opened her bedroom door with the faintest of noises after yet another day of silence. There hasn’t been any sound of a word within her living boundaries for a week. She cried to herself silently as she watched her parents go by their work with no human expression. She was a part of an emotionally wrecked family that had long forgotten the expression of emotion. A cold war within the family loomed large. Karen didn’t want to risk her life falling into a relationship with another guy in these circumstances. She never believed in God.

I haven’t been in touch with two of my closest friends, Ron and Karen. Fourteen years passed. When we were nine, we used to ride together on the same bike, going around dashing walls and forcing ourselves to lose control and eventually fall off. Karen used to laugh her guts out when the bike just stood after the consciously planned impact. Ron was all praise for having the most control of the bike. He just smiled. After the little incident that we got used to, Ron’s mom called us in for a snack. Karen remarked his mom shouts when his dad shouts. It feels so sloppy. I love her lemonade though. Goodbye Ron. Goodbye you, she waved with a bright smile. He quietly sipped his lemonade. I faintly heard his dad speak when his mom placed the jar of lemonade with a thud. Tears rolled down his cheek. I whispered a thank you and left.

Today, I understand the reason behind Ron’s moist eyes while he had his glass of lemonade. Today, I understand the reason behind Karen’s remark. Innocent knowledge!

Thanks to Cricinfo. The end comment- hope you had a great time, it’s been terrific entertainment with the six-hitting. Do join us again. This is Ron Fanly signing off… took me to Ron again. Forget the odds of the right Ron Fanly.

Thanks to DHL. The column Business Requirement document v1.0, first review by Karen Heins took me to Karen again. What are the chances!

Karen’s mobile beeped .You won’t believe it’s ‘You’. Hoping to see you. Her nickname ‘you’ for me brought her the much needed smile. Ron’s mobile beeped too. I tried the dash with the bike. I managed to lose control. Why don’t you teach me to hold steady?

It was Karen I met first. She began…

My dad was based in California then. My mom here. Mom’s location was rather static unlike dad’s. Dad kept shuffling places. ‘Live the World’, he used to say. Mom found it tough to manage me by herself. ‘Live in ‘this’ world’ she says. Seven years passed in silence. Mom and dad were far apart. Being with mom while she worked to keep this little world of ours going…without dad, silence just kept getting bigger. She goes, lectures at work, attends seminars, reviews documents and signs them off. No sign of dad and even if there was any, I didn’t get to know. My young years passed in a Lifeless world. And now, dad’s back. He’d forced himself to do that for he stays only at one place …wanting to prove mom a point, the point that goes way beyond any stubborn egoistic knowledge ‘life is where true work is. My true work isn’t here.’ And mom..mom..has another belief ‘God brought us together. World has to be made around it.’ you know…there has been too much of ‘World’ and ‘Belief’, the years are spent sulking this way. I have opted to add to their egoistic and unbelievable clashes of the mind… trying to do a mix of both. And now at an age of being with a guy to share my thoughts, I beg to differ with them. It makes me want to take that step back. The sun set and the night just began to look beautiful.

I planned a moonlit dinner with Ron. He took a sip of lemon soda and began…

My dad had warned my mom about his passion for cricket before they got married. He played for his county and he forgets the world around him when a match is on. His adrenaline rush is always on the high and it occasionally affected his human expression of emotion...I hope you understand what I mean... and mom, being a writer, used to keep to herself in the initial years. My dad has been a fan of hers, plots of romance and often involving a divorce in her story line…female dominance more than feminism. With passage of time and work load taking the toll, dad’s passion slipped and also took the rush away with it. He realized real expression loses the right meaning when excessive passion or obsession slips out into the real world… on the flip side, this realization has sowed the seed of suspicion. Suspicion that is baseless. He feels real life incidents inspire great novels like a legend inspires a young one. She has written novels for years now and my dad fears this success of hers would change her mind...he fears they will end up divorced. My mother lives in her own novel world trying to make stories, trying to push herself to go beyond the limits of fame. Fear in silence grew into fear in argument, arguing for the very purpose of life. For dad it has been a passion that had to be killed. And while that took time to die, a new passion began to take life within my mom…. giving rise to another obsession. They are so alike but the likes have come years apart. It has only destroyed their ways of thought. You know… I am tired of being part of this nonsensical world of living… Not until my mom retires from writing and my dad stops worrying for all the wrong reasons. I just pray to see this phase off. I hope this is just a phase…! I sensed his tone. The moon shone bright.

I wasn’t sure if Karen and Ron had managed to keep in touch but I gave Karen a call. For Karen and Ron too, this was the first meeting in fourteen years. Little did I know that it would take so long to know how life still remained the same since the whispering thank you.

Still at deuce…

[This post had long been in the making.Took some time off to finish it today.There will be another story in the near future, not in this genre though.]