On the eve of my campus admission; I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned but just couldn’t find the right position. I was in a linger; eyes couldn’t close, heart wouldn’t stop beating. I couldn’t just wait to get to my fantasy world no matter how blurred it was. My mind kept wandering in vicinities I have never been.
Looking back, given a time travel machine, I would go back and relive the four years. The echoes of my life on campus keep sounding the same song; Make the very same mistakes and meet the very same friends. Thanks to the four years, I can now afford to dream. I can look in the mirror, stare straight to my eyes,
So, I am taking a walk in this invisible space in my mind and in the subconscious land is a train wreck of chaotic realities that I would like to share. For starters, I am now almost convinced that I was born three centuries too late. That is not to say I am questioning the wisdom of He who thought it wise to have me in this generation.
It is not a secret now, that many facets of my rather ‘mysterious’ life, as my friends would say, give every indication that in fact, I was in the lineage of chief-hood. That is to say, if the British could have just held on to their piss and maybe avoided East Africa, I could have been a Chief and most probably presiding over the council of Jodongo this very second.
Outside their chambers, they fight and give all indications that they are enemies. Or at least, that is what they want us to see. In fact they call themselves names to sell the act. But here is the truth, just like Pro-wrestling, it is all scripted and predetermined. The punches and the kicks maybe real, but at the end it is a win-win situation: money in the bank.
It is considered immature to smile in Bangladesh and as a result people don’t smile much. By Bangladesh standards, all my friends are immature especially with their meme-loving lives. In the same country, the left hand is considered to be unclean. The right hand is used when eating, passing food, or things. In other words if you are left-handed and happy,
What if, just what if a nuclear Armageddon destroys civilization on Earth and the only survivors are those on the international space stations in orbit at the time. Then, because resources are dwindling, teams have to be sent down to earth in a bid to save humanity. Then we land and we notice,
“Signing a contract with China is like, ascribing to the boiling frog effect; a fable describing a frog being boiled alive slowly. If you drop a frog suddenly into boiling water, it will jump out, but if you put that same frog in a vessel of water and start heating the water gradually, it will adjust its body temperature accordingly until it reaches a stage beyond its capacity and dies foolishly” Someone noted.
If our bones could talk, how intriguing will it be to listen to the untold stories they carry. The confessions they will make about the many times they struggle to keep us alive. You know that feeling, when you are standing at the edge of a tall building and a screw in your head loosens. For a moment, you sail away with the fairies.
Once upon a time, Nokia was a global market leader boasting a bigger national budget than Finland, the country it was founded. After few years, a source of national pride turned into shame, a story of rise and fall written and orchestrated by technology. Such is the unforgiving and radical-transmutation nature of technology; Impatient and eternally flowering. The future of work is knocking,