G&G

Hap-e-bird-day to ME

Hap-e-bird-day to ME

Hap-e-bird-day dear Barbsie

Hap-e-bird-day to ME

It's been a great year Barbsie - Now let's make it a grand life, ya?

Twenty-two Hundred and One

There's a breeze abouts outside. I can hear the leaves and branches whispering in the wind as the night sky is made extra dark with rain clouds.

"Today doesn't seem to be so smooth a day for us."

I have Daniel Merriweather playing on the stereo, singing melancholic Motown like songs - nothing too heavy, nothing too light. If I had to put dinner on the table, it would have to be a simple salad, possibly with some pickled cucumber and onions thrown in, to wett the palate, together with your favourite grilled beef and garlic sausages.

I suppose conversation would have a large amount of ranting - me bout my broken eggs and you bout the heads you had to bite off today, in the spirit of teaching people who wouldn't learn. Quite possibly, we'll try and break the BJJ that's sauntering around today by talking bout the latest books I have read. And perhaps later, throwing in some DVD that's missed viewing time in the last month.

And as the clock turns towards bedtime, you'll say once again: "the bright side of it would be that we got thru it in one piece."

And my answer to that would be: did we? Did we really? Cos you're stuck on some island, in a 400 metre square room while I am sitting at my study desk, 400 hundred kilometres away, mentally going thru what should be the therapy that is needed on such a day. Instead, I'm settling for a date for 2201 hours to take 2 shots here while you do 2 there and call it a night.

"Who says change can't happen? You've changed!"

I suppose I have. As bff says: we do what we have to, just to get thru the day!

Salut sweets!

All Things Round and Lost

I wrote in my Facebook page that I was losing my eggs and my marbles. And I think it requires some clarification of sorts - with birthday number 34 coming up, we don't want people going abouts thinking that Barb's fading into the hills, starting with losing her eggs, i.e. biological eggs. NOT that I'm about to go abouts utilising any of them.

I digress. So let me return to forming a clarifications of sorts. And we'll start with eggs.

This week and the next will be the craziest you'd ever hear of my office life. We're getting every single kid we have on the register safely on the plane, armed with the necessary documents and knowing that they have a room to call home when they get there. Funnily, the number one worry that most parents have is that their kids are gonna land in some foreign land, having to sleep under a tree (a foreign tree to boot!) on their first night. AS IF any of us placement offices would allow that to happen!

And while all that is happening, I am also watching my private students pull away, one by one, for reasons that are beyond my control. My eggs - as I have taken to calling them - are hatching but not at my farm. And that pisses me off to an extent cos for the last few months (some of them the last year), I have been nurturing them and cultivating them. So to actually come to this point - let's just say "pissed" is an understatement.

As I told Mandy last night, remove all the distractions and stare at the core issue. My core issue is not that we're gonna lose billing rights on these accounts (billing rights translating to bigger year end bonuses). It's not about the money. And this is where I can politely turn crimson while admitting that at some point in time, I had declared to myself and a close knit of friends, that I am determined that this year, my 1st year, I WILL send more students than that of last year.

With my broken eggs ~ I am thankful that I am at least meeting the numbers of last year. But it is a bitter pill to swallow - to have to come to acknowledge to myself that I did not succeed. That perhaps even, I was arrogant in assuming I would.

My mum told me earlier this week, that I was born a kind-hearted person and that despite everything that life has thrown my way, I still am. Except when it comes to work. Her advice: find some way to turn my 'black' heart around and that the best person to learn it from is my current boss.

Ordinarily, I would poo-poo at that suggestion. But I sat thru the better half of today, watching my boss subtley teach me the finer points of our trade. It took me a while to realise that it was a learning day, not a working day. And it was a humble pie to eat. Cos there I was struggling to find some way to say 'This kid deserves to go to Ireland this year' yet to her, it was a breeze. She could even declared after one particular candidate how it was such an enjoyable interview session!

I like to think that everything happens for a reason. And I have found mine for the last 10 days or so, despite it causing me to feel as if I'm losing some of my marbles. And it would serve me well to eat crow for the rest of the next 13 months so I deserve crow in my diet.

And that is the bit about my losing my eggs.

As for losing my marbles - I had reason last night, to drive past the hospital Mum was admitted to. As the fascade loomed ahead while the lights turned green, I found my heart beating a bit faster, the breathing becoming more shallow and my hands shaking as they gripped the steering wheel. To think a physical structure can bring a bout of terror - if that ain't me losing my marbles, I don't know what is!

Crossing the Chasm

There's been a particular posting that my cousin Paul made over the weekend that I find myself coming back to, over and over again. In it he says this: Forgiveness is hard. Especially in marriages tense with past troubles and torn by suspician and distrust.

It sticks in my head, probably cos it's the God-to-honest truth. In every living creature and being, we are born with a self-preservation button. Some of us press it when we have to, and some of us have a somewhat faulty one - it gets stuck on "lock mode" once it has been pressed.

Which takes me to thinkng... there's an unwritten 2nd part to that post which Paul has yet to touch on: Forgetting is even harder. It would likely be something Paul would not touch on cos he's the sorta chap who dwells not on yesterdays, lives for todays and tomorrows. So on this lil rabbit hole I must go on my own...

I have always marvelled at couples with more silver on their head than black (or blonde, auburn or brown), how they withstood the test of time, man and self. What's their magic formula when it comes to this forgiving-and-forgetting? Cos Lord only knows, in life and relationships, particularly marriages where a commitment before man and God has been made, there would be times when the perception of perfection gets tarnished and we are faced with the situation either to polish it clean, chuck it away or stick it at the back of the closet.

Last week my dad surprised me when he rose to the ocassion of my mum being installed in the hospital. Many years back, quite possibly due to work commitments, he was hardly there as she lay in the sickbed from a collapsed lung. This time round, he's gone out of his usual ways to be more than just there for her, shouldering bits of responsibilities in the house as well. Even mum noticed it, and it was something that warmed my heart cos in this, I saw in my own parents, the silver-haired couples that I have envied from afar, when before this I thought all that held them together was the fear of God and their grandkids.

And I think back to the times of their cold-wars, the raging shouting matches (and dad rarely shouts so when he does, it's a situation!), the threats of bags packing to up and going. How all those times pale in comparison to watching dad's face slowly turn a shade paler as the time passed by and there was no sight nor sound of mum coming out of the operating room.

I know if I were to ask either of them "What's the secret?" They would tell me that it's an indication of what the word "vow" means to them. And how its definition goes beyond "keeping to one's word." And how people can and will change over time, surprising us when it is for the better.

I am thinking all this cos I am watching a dear friend hurt and live in pain, and I have exhausted all my wittism and humour to try and pull her out of it. I'm trying to gain perspective, and thru this, my hope that she too will gain perspective. To stay focussed, ignoring for now all the superflous characters that serves no direct purpose in her life, the distraction of "agents of evil" that reside in her head.

As Linkin Park's new song from the Transformers movie goes:

So give me reason to prove me wrong, to wash this memory clean

Let the floods cross the distance in your eyes

Give me reason to fill this hole, connect the space between

Let it be enough to reach the truth that lies across this new divide

I guess in choosing to share your life with someone else, you relinquish the right to "keep score." Cos each 'x' or '0' only serves to create yet another divide.

As our favourite TV show says: Forgive yourself, you can only hurt so much. So dearie ~ if they can make an episode out of it and we can spend out hard earned monies buying the CDs, and our time to watch it - there must be some truth in that.

Ain't No Child's Play

One of the things that I'm notoriously famous for among my circle of friends is my great ability to "walk out" when the going gets tough. Heat from work gets too great ~ find another job. Arguments getting too frequent and too intense ~ pack and go. Friends growing too distant and too cold ~ cut em lose from the contacts list.

And lately, I have been thinking that this is not one ability I should be proud of.

To be metaphorical about it, one could akin going about life like building a house of cards. Watch most kids as they go about and more often than not, when the house starts collapsing, they would swipe it off the surface, to start over again. And there would be the one or two who would try to "repair" the section that has collapsed, working their way around the damage with great intensity, concentration, energy and focus, all the while making sure that the rest of the bits don't go array as well.

But sadly for most of us, we're no longer kids, and therefore no longer imbued with the childlike innocence. If one section of our deck falls down, it is more likely that we'll swipe it off the surface, to start over again, demolishing everything else that is still standing.

Over time, I have learnt that life is too short to call it quits just cos I can't heck it. Short in this instance would be that I would not have the time or chance to go set things right - the second or third or fourth time around.

And so, I say - life isn't child's play. As adults, we should know better and be like that odd couple of kids, who would work their way, repairing the damaged bits. The satisfaction at the end of the day - would surely be worth it all!

Too Soon

It has just occurred to me that there is some wisdom in the phrase "Speaking too soon." And to reiterate my thought, here are two fine examples of such:

1) A month ago, I wrote of how life returns to normal after all the travels, wedding and such. And how the diary looks empty for the year ahead. Then *bam* mum falls down, the kids fall ill and Lord knows what else is in store with another 10 days to go for the month.

2) I told my brother and sister in law on Sunday how they are not to fall ill in this time of crisis. And that if either of them, or even dad were to fall ill, I'd go kneel in front of the altar and recite the Novena for 9 hours straight.

As the Irish would say in situations as such "How was I meant to be inspired?!"

I guess I was.. in a quirk, Barbsie way!

Valuation

"At midnight next Friday, I shall make sure I mandi-bunga," I said to Mandy today. To wash away all the bad-ju-ju that this year has brought my way.

But Mandy disagreed. In fact, she thinks that this year has been a grand year for me cos she thinks I've actually FINALLY got my act together.

As the day winds day - and what a day this has been - I am trying very hard to keep what she says at the forefront of my mind, my thoughts, my entire collapsing being. Cos right now, I am just about flat out - in every sense of the phrase.

I look like crap, I feel like crap and I don't even want to go past looking beyond my own reflection. Cos just about everything else is equally crap right now.

Whoever said growing pains was a physical thingy – they were way wrong. They were also wrong on the account that it happens only during puberty – it’s a pain that never ends!

It is said in Proverbs 24, verse 13 & 14:

When you enjoy becoming wise,

There is hope for you!

A bright future lies ahead.

So I guess today, like every other day, too shall pass. Just gotta suck it up!

In Good Spirits

It's been a harrowing and crazy morning, with a false start that mum was on the list for today's surgeries. And now that it's all sorted out that she'll go under the blade either tomorrow or Thursday, I'm just glad she's in good spirits!

Let's pray it holds up.. else this gal's gonna be the one needing the spirits!

~ Ma in bed! A sight you hardly ever see! ~

Ma on Sticks

Me mam had a slip yesterday morning and landed on one bended knee. Now touching 58, that is not something one wants to be doing. It has a very high possibility of making bones break. Which is what has happened in her case.

I only managed to get round to seeing her in the hospital today cos of the fears of the flu virus going abouts and having the kids home for the weekend. And as much as I told myself - I've worked in a hospital, I've been admitted into hospitals, I've visited hospitals; none of them prepared them for the sight of seeing mum in a threadbare hospital gown and hobbling about.

The kids made a video on my phone for me to show to her cos they have been banned (by mum no less!) to go visit. And they also demanded I take one of her for them in return.

As I told Ben last night, my mum - these days, her 6 grandkids are who she lives for, and in particular to a grand extent, my two. She has helped me nurse Lydia and Luke from the day they were born. And even at 58 with creaky joints, she still carried out her role as grandchild bather for the 1st month with our newest member Gabriel.

It all rang true as I watched her watching the video, fighting back tears as her "doh-doh" and "lukey" said their hellos and I-love-yous.. and recording one back in return for them, I realised that mum may still look the same as she did 10 years ago, but mum in truth, is not quite the same anymore.

For the last few years, I inadvertently started a personal pre-birthday tradition of pondering if mum is proud of me, and all that I have achieved. This is something that she does not know about cos it's never been spoken of. Kissing her good night before leaving her with a room full of strange-bed-fellows, I asked myself: Why have I never ever asked her in person?

It's not a major surgery, this fixing of a patellar fracture. And while she is not resting in the comforts of a 5-star private hospital, I am confident that she is in good hands (half of the surgeons are Irish graduates!). And hey, when she gets round to eating hospital grub again, I'm not too worried that it'll be congealing gunk ~ afterall, if they are sending food around in a RM 75,000 Burlodge trolley - it'll at least come to her at the right temperature. (And if I find that it is not, words will be said at the Customer Service desk for sure!!)

Nonetheless, thinking ahead of how a bed's gotta be fixed up for her in the living room, the navigating of tight corners just to get to the bathroom, the weeks of watching the rest of us run the house (which is her domain), I am pretty sure this experience is gonna change mum somewhat.

A year ago, when I decided to take her back down south for her birthday weekend, it was referred to as Barbsie doing the adult thing. Never did I reckon that a year later, just as I was wondering what to get her for her birthday, that the best gift I can give her would be ACTUALLY doing the adult thing.

We often forget the nights that our folks stay up to nurse us when we were wee lil rugrats. And it's sad in my case, to see my ma on sticks to be reminded of the times she has held my hand as my temp rose beyond belief.

Regardless of the hospital policy in place, I am hell bent to do whatever necessary to make sure that this time round, when ma opens her eyes post-op, I'm there holding her hand and giving her water or whatever else it is she wants.

As I was duly warned last night - it's gonna be painful personally to see her wince in pain. But I would be always appreciative of the fact that I was able to walk it thru with her.

If I have one wish this year, I will spend it wishing that I will never grow so callous as to never have time to do the lil things that matter, such as making time, effort and energy when it counts and for the people who count.

Saturday Night Live

"No Barb. No more, until you're certain," said Mandy over lunch sometime last week.

In many ways, I agree with her - that when it comes to my kids, the trend of people coming and going in and out of their lives like a leaf flying in the wind, has got to stop. And in fact, it has stopped. Whatever persons who are introduced to them by association with me, has been carefully screened, pondered upon and all consequences - big or small - are weighed out carefully.

Over the last year or so, it has been a slight point of tension but it was one I could live with. Cos for once, I was doing the 'responsible' thing of not going into something feet first and when the body is mid-way thru the rabbit-hole, I'd go "oh no!" Plus for once, the decision was a joint-decision, which is great ~ this sharing of responsibility!

In all the times that I have indulged in the ponderments of it, it has always been 99.9% 'It would never happen' and 0.01% 'what if it does?' So what transpired that brought about a change in the 'actuality'? I can't really say cos I don't really know. Perhaps it was a weighing of the circumstances on hand and that was the only option left available. Perhaps it was the individual crossing of some un-seen barrier.

All I know is this: for a first 'outing' it couldn't have gone better.

You never know the biggest day of your life is the biggest day.

Not until it's happening.

You don't recognize the biggest day of your life,

not until you're right in the middle of it.

Facing the Music

hon⋅es⋅ty ~ noun, plural -ties.

1. The quality or fact of being honest; uprightness and fairness.
2. Truthfulness, sincerity, or frankness.
3. Freedom from deceit or fraud.

No one likes dishonesty in any form or role. Yet, there are times when a small pinch of it could save a whole load of heartache and misery.

But then again, would we ever be able to justify our reasons for leaving this bit out of the conversation, if ever the time comes when we just have to face the music?

Definitely worth sleeping many nights and moons on, then eh?

17 Days and Counting

In 17 days I turn 34. So it's about time to take stock of the year past, and the stories todate. Perhaps merely in the last 350-something days, perhaps over the entire life span.

I have been looking at myself in the mirror a fair bit more off late. Not so much looking for wrinkles, crows feet, laughlines... but to really see if I am looking my age... or older.. or younger. While it may sound like flashes of vanity to the reader, it really is me, myself and I, seeking some form of visual assurance that I am where I am.

I had said a year ago, that this year of 33 would be about ME and I'm mighty glad to say that it has been all about ME ~ finding me, knowing me and letting me grow. Selfish as it may sound, in the process of all that, it has also been alot about YOU (whoever you may be) and I think that is the single factor that enables me to shed my bags of spuds and move on.

And since we have moved away from the starting block, embarked well and truly on this road we call LIFE, I have decided to take stock of the things I need to do in the year (and years to come).

So my simple goals in life, starting now would be:

1) Get a griddle pan ~ I have been talking and thinking about it for the longest time, making do with my lil electric oven (which isn't mine to begin with!) and creating pseudo-grilled items. Each time I head on over to Ikea, I would pick one up, give it a twirl to check its balance, give it a swing to test its weight and give it a tap to check that it is cast iron. Having done all that, I would do a quick mental calculation and find that for that RM 90, I could get a whole load of other stuff that I have also been putting off. And so the pan goes back onto the shelf ... until the next trip. So yes, I shall get myself that griddle pan the next time I go to Ikea. For if I wanna set my sights on the Kenwood Snackpro, I should at least start at the bottom with this pan.

2) Give my car a wash once a week ~ Either I get myself a bucket, a sponge and some liquid soap or I'll have to cut back on the fags so that I can drop it off to the shop for a whizz about. It may not be a fancy-smancy car, but hey, it's mine at the end of the day, so I really ought to take better care of it.

3) Clean my windows ~ The funny thing about windows is this: You don't really look out of them much. I mean, mine's always open so the smudges and dirt stains from the rain almost always escapes me. But I should not leave them as they are until it's about time for the folks to come round for Easter dinner. There may be a day when I want to look out of clear panes when the rain is falling outside. So yes - clean my windows, more than once a year.

4) Re-start a facial regime ~ This is a severely nasty habit of mine - get loads of products, stack them on the shelf, diligently use them for like 2 months, then slowly drop off the edge of that beauty hill. While I may be able to get away with shaving the years ago with a simple hair cut, there will come a time when I'm gonna wake up like the witches in Stardust. Rather than search for the heart of a fallen star, I think I'll look no further than my toiletry cabinet.

5) Change the living room furniture ~ No offence to KW and Jen who so kindly donated their sofa set to me some 4 years ago when I had only 3 pieces of RM 20 foam mattresses to my name. But it really is time to get that part of the house changed. And it won't be a wasted change guys - the set is moving on to another household who doesn't have one currently. So see - it goes back in the cycle as it was intended to.

6) Book project ~ Last but not least, by this time next year, I must have this kicked off in some fashion - even if it's just a document sitting in the hard drive of my own computer. What's it gonna be about? We'll see.. I'm sure it'll come to me one fine day.. soon-ish!

My ex-boss Martin used to say: No less than 6 and no more than 8. And cos he's one of the most respected persons in my life, I shall continue to heed his advice and stick to 6.

If I really wanna stretch myself, I suppose I could always add on:

7) Work towards getting that new mobile phone, and

8) Discipline my reading to a mere hour a day.

And yes - those two would be a stretch!

By the way - volunteers for items (2) and (3) are most welcomed, and you know I won't be so rude as to not say "thank you" if items (1), (5) and (7) were placed outside the front door with a nice big red bow around it as well!

Like That Hor

I recall not too long ago, some political figure in our country was splashed all over the front pages of the morning paper, with the story being that his command of the English language was flawed. Flawed to the point that he should not be in the public's eye.

I never would have thought I'd see the day where one would be deemed to be flawed because one's command of the language is judged as above average. But that day has indeed arrived personally.

Unfortunately, my options to address the issue at hand are limited; I do not have a vast array of solutions at my disposable. *Doggone done it again with disposable!*

And if I were to follow Mandy's mantra of "Suck it up", I would soon end up with a internal system that comprise mostly of fume, frustration and toxic matters.

More importantly, I do know that I should remove "reading" from my list of hobbies and things to do daily cos it's turning my vocabulary into one that belongs to persons from literary circles (tho the only writer I know is Kelly!).

I was taught that one should always "speak as one wished to be spoken too." Seeing how I cannot unlearn what has been ingrained into me, perhaps I should just leave the letter writing and speaking to someone else. And if I were to do that - then perhaps I should not be here at all cos it would leave me with nothing to do.

Never have I felt so utterly idiotic in my entire working career. Talk about facing massive culture clash.

I think I should go back to wearing Crocs to work. Maybe then I'll be a happy unprofessional camper.

Hobbles Hobbies

An old friend made a very mind-triggering comment yesterday. "I hate days off," he said as he dug into his 2nd plate of pasta. "Now that I run my own business, every holiday, day off is costing me money!"

If you look around you, there are about two schools of individuals - those who have no one watching in their clock in, yet show up as any other person working on the clock, and there are those who stroll in as and when they like, without regard for the concept of time-and-money.

On the drive in to work, I was thinking about this and how it boiled down to 'ownership' and 'accountability'. But my cousin Paul has given me a slightly different perspective to it, which I think is more accurate. And it goes like this:

"What distinguishes successful (sales) leaders is their commitment to the business. The business is our hobby. Everything we do is for the business or to build knowledge around the business."

You're spot on mate - it is our hobby.

A Lack of Convictions?

I’ve just finished reading the most beautiful lil book entitled ‘The Cellist of Sarajevo’ by Stephen Galloway. Set during the war of Sarajevo, it is inspired by Vedran Smajlović, a cellist who sat and played Albinoni’s Adagio in the bombed out shell of a shop where 22 people died while queuing for bread.

Listening to the Adagio as I write this, I cannot help but recall the book, which according to the Washington Post, has captured to triumph of the spirit in the face of overwhelming despair.

The city that I lived in was caught in a mire of woes over the weekend, stemming from a demonstrative march of over 100,000 individuals on our Internal Security Act. Over 500 people were arrested and the city was crippled by the force of the voice, determined to rise from a whisper to a scream.

One moment the people are walking or
running through the street, and then
they drop abruptly as though they were marionettes
and their puppeteer had fainted.

As the online papers provided a Twitter-like update, and as I read it from the safe confines of my study, I tried hard to formulate a particular opinion about the whole situation and the enfolding actions on both sides.

It irked me that a journey, normally lasting only 10 minutes ran into over an hour, and the whole time my kids were hungry for their lunch in the backseat of the car. And that for the whole afternoon I was worried for a passenger on a bus, not sure if when getting off, he would be caught in the onslaught of things and running emotions.

It irks me that when in speaking, one has to be conscious of the fact that walls may have ears, and if you say the wrong thing at the wrong place, you’re gonna be needing lots of good family and friends to drive to a certain location, bringing you basic things like a bar of soap, toothbrush, a towel.

It irks me that these groups of people held on to their convictions so strongly; they did not care about the mess they have made of the weekend for the many others who share the same space.

It irks me that I do not have the same depth in their belief and conviction that I chose instead to stay holed up at home.

It wasn’t always like this.
Not long ago the promise of a happy life
seemed almost inviolable.

We are far from being caught in the face of sheer adversity such as a life of strife in a war-torn country. Where water, electricity, food moves from being a basic item to a luxury item. Where crossing the road is done at your own peril because you can never tell who has their sights on you. And I hope in my lifetime, I do not have to come face to face with such a situation.

For in truth, I do not think I would have the inner strength to survive that.

As it is, I am finding the world to be changing at such a pace, it freezes my mind. Where if you do something good for someone, there HAS TO BE a hidden agenda behind it. Where if someone brushes to close to you on the streets, you instinctively clutch your bag a lil closer. Where there is no such thing as a free lunch anymore.

It freezes my mind cos I do not have any personal trauma associated with the above, yet already I am traumatised. Which leaves me to ask: Is there any more goodness left? Or room for the hope of good in this world? And if there is: Can it start with me? And if it can: What can I do?

That something could be almost erased
from existence in the landscape of a ruined city,
and then rebuilt until it is new and worthwhile,
gives him hope.

I had been struggling with a particular issue over the course of the last year, which became a bit more pronounced in the last week. I have been pondering long and hard about this whole thing and striking a balance so that the way forward is crystal clear, from every possible angle. I have also been reading books, articles, forum advice on the same issue.

It has become clearer now: the option to relent, rebuild and shape can never go wrong. And it is an idea that I need to be at peace with, in order to move forward productively and deriving some measure of goodness out of it.

The fingers on his flesh told him that he was loved,
that he had always been loved, and
that the world was a place where above all else
the things that were good would find a way
to burrow into you.

Just like I must find some way to be at peace over some of my stands and viewpoints in life. And if the elevator closes on me even though the person inside knows that I’m running for it, it doesn’t mean that the whole world has lost all sensibilities of common courtesies.

Luke always asks me when we pass a toll-booth, why is it I greet the toll-collector. My reply to him is that they work in isolation. And if my mere short 2 words brings some comfort in helping them remember that they do not exist in isolation, then I would have done something good and nice for the day.

I would have done well today, in remembering my own words. But I’m finding it hard to remember then when I think of how the other party might be feeling. And if I could have gone any easier or phrased it any more correctly.

I read somewhere that “You cannot make it as a wondering generality. You must become a meaningful specific.” And as the notes of the Adagio filters into my sphere for this afternoon, I am taken back to the scene and that quote. Perhaps that was what Vedran Smajlović was trying to achieve: to be a meaningful specific in the face of death and despair. And to give some semblance of meaning to each of the 22 lives lost so they are not a wondering generality in the total casualty of war.

The music demanded that she remember this,
that she know to a certainty that the world
still held the capacity for goodness.
The notes were proof of that.

There will always be two sides to the same coin. Flip the word EVIL over and what you get is LIVE. I may not have the strength of convictions today in the same issues as the other person on the street. But I am striving to do my best.

And I must remember that… in order to always arrive at the right set of choices and eventually the right decision, without losing myself in the process … in order for me to remain being a meaningful specific to every person I come across.

Quotes are excerpts from the book

The Cellist of Sarajevo