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Nostalgia is a nasty liar!

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Drinks bring back memories. But so do breaths. Every single one of them. At least for us teetotalers, who don’t need drinks to subject our minds to involuntary time travel.

The year is 2015. I am in love, with a tender soul who smiles charitably and freely. Eyes are meant to see but hers speak, of the journey of sunlight as it enters raindrops and emerges as rainbows.

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Assumption is the mother of all Screw-ups!

Probably we are all dead and alive in our afterlife. Or tell
me, when did being gentle and nice translate into affection? I am a confessed
professional judge. I sometimes get so judgmental I forget my own masks. And
today is not the day I apologize for being that.  This is the day I adorn my judicial robes and
call conjecture to the stand for cross-examination.

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Feelings with no adjectives

So I heard about this absurd story concerning a hospital. Every Sunday morning around 11 A.M, a patient died in the ICU. This happened for quite a while and it was a wonder and a mystery, not just because of the consistency of deaths but also about their unknown causes. It became a great matter of concern to the surgery team and the doctors on why they had to lose a patient every Sunday just when they thought they had saved them.

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