There is a particular moment of the day were you can simply hear silence . This moment is coloured by the lack of the sound of your breadthing, of your heartbeat, of your thoughts. It is a slice of time that is past as soon as it is present. It occurs when the mind stops thinking and obviously is gone exactly when you stop and think about it.
It is this very silence that drives people crazy. It is the very sound of lonliness, emptiness, cold; all at one intense go .
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Beware Amaranth E123
This morning I was sitting in front of a cup of tea, coughing my chest off and looking through online newspapers. I have tried a number of medicines for the cough but it still persists.. probably because it is some sort of allergy; not rare at this time of the year.
Anyhow, I was thinking of my latest, failed attempt of medicine, which I bought over the counter from a pharmacy, and I decided to give it a second attempt. It sat near my laptop while I sipped some more tea and read some more of the endless entaglement of political debate; WHEN, the contents of the medicine caught my eye. Now, very few people probably ever bother to look through a medicine's list of ingredients because, well, medicine is supposedly invented to make you better, not worse right? This time round, however, some Es in the list caught my eye and since I am aware of the danger of a good number of them, I typed the first one into my search engine. It was Benzoate E211. Basically it is what I expected. There is a danger if certain conditions happen to occur to the medicine, it is used in famous soft drinks and is being phased out, it does a minimal damage but if not taken regularly, it should be ok. Nothing so tragic in that.
The next one was the big bombshell. Amaranth E123. Apparently this chemical is used in many jellies, cake mixes, soups, shrimps etc.
"It appears to cause allergic and/or intolerance reactions, similar to nettle rash, particularly amongst those with an aspirin intolerance or asthmatics. can provoke asthma, eczema and hyperactivity; it caused birth defects and foetal deaths in some animal tests, possibly also cancer
Anyhow, I was thinking of my latest, failed attempt of medicine, which I bought over the counter from a pharmacy, and I decided to give it a second attempt. It sat near my laptop while I sipped some more tea and read some more of the endless entaglement of political debate; WHEN, the contents of the medicine caught my eye. Now, very few people probably ever bother to look through a medicine's list of ingredients because, well, medicine is supposedly invented to make you better, not worse right? This time round, however, some Es in the list caught my eye and since I am aware of the danger of a good number of them, I typed the first one into my search engine. It was Benzoate E211. Basically it is what I expected. There is a danger if certain conditions happen to occur to the medicine, it is used in famous soft drinks and is being phased out, it does a minimal damage but if not taken regularly, it should be ok. Nothing so tragic in that.
The next one was the big bombshell. Amaranth E123. Apparently this chemical is used in many jellies, cake mixes, soups, shrimps etc.
"It appears to cause allergic and/or intolerance reactions, similar to nettle rash, particularly amongst those with an aspirin intolerance or asthmatics. can provoke asthma, eczema and hyperactivity; it caused birth defects and foetal deaths in some animal tests, possibly also cancer
.Not recommended for consumption by children.
It is banned in Norway, United States, Russia and Austria (see E129) with a very restricted use in France and Italy (caviar only)."
(http://www.ukfoodguide.net/e123.htm)
WOW.. it is banned in the sensible part of Europe, it can cause birth defects, possibly also cancer.
And then I went into the information leaflet to look for THIS information, well, there's a paper missing... a paper which probably hasn't even been printed yet.
The argument against me would be that you only take very little traces of this E123 for it to be harmful. But how the hell do they know how much I love jelly and prawns. And apparently there are no concrete results as to the dangers of this substance.
The medicine is already in the bin, obviously.
Monday, November 09, 2009
the chicken or the egg?
Which came first.. the chicken or the egg?
Before I start, I have to make it clear that I do not have the answer, but I have the explanation, which might prove to be a bit more helpful...
It all started when I forgot my mobile in my car.. in the garage. (Be advised, this story is true, but very unlikely) It sat there for hours. (Also, be advised, this is not going to be about my mobile.) And when I finally remembered that I own a mobile, that I hadn't heard it for hours and that I was started to suffer from it's absence, I engaged in trying to remember where I had abandoned it. I trailed back my actions and finally remembered it sat, lonely as the moon, down there.
(Also, remember I had spent a whole day using my voice, and I was coughing slightly) So obviously, I went to get it. Now, I was in my socks, and I had to go down through an outside stairs, and it was raining. 1+1 = I wet my feet.
And from here, a trail of possible thoughts raced. I saw myself sick in bed, with broncitis. I saw the doctor, and that doctor asked me if I could remember what could have possibly triggered the broncitis. And I saw myself trying to think back to today.. but the memories were blurred. What came first, the cough or the wet feet?
Well, because at a certain distance of time things blend in, and blur until they become one jigsaw puzzle piece in the immense puzzle that is our memory.
So, the cough or the wet feet came first? I'm still getting the cold so it doesn't make much difference.
And.. the chicken or the egg?
As long as I can eat scrambled eggs on toast, hard boiled eggs with bread fingers and cakes, and pizza and buns, and sauteed chicken in peanut sauce and all that is the culinary world of the egg and the chicken, I couldn't care LESS.
period.
*cough* *cough*
Before I start, I have to make it clear that I do not have the answer, but I have the explanation, which might prove to be a bit more helpful...
It all started when I forgot my mobile in my car.. in the garage. (Be advised, this story is true, but very unlikely) It sat there for hours. (Also, be advised, this is not going to be about my mobile.) And when I finally remembered that I own a mobile, that I hadn't heard it for hours and that I was started to suffer from it's absence, I engaged in trying to remember where I had abandoned it. I trailed back my actions and finally remembered it sat, lonely as the moon, down there.
(Also, remember I had spent a whole day using my voice, and I was coughing slightly) So obviously, I went to get it. Now, I was in my socks, and I had to go down through an outside stairs, and it was raining. 1+1 = I wet my feet.
And from here, a trail of possible thoughts raced. I saw myself sick in bed, with broncitis. I saw the doctor, and that doctor asked me if I could remember what could have possibly triggered the broncitis. And I saw myself trying to think back to today.. but the memories were blurred. What came first, the cough or the wet feet?
Well, because at a certain distance of time things blend in, and blur until they become one jigsaw puzzle piece in the immense puzzle that is our memory.
So, the cough or the wet feet came first? I'm still getting the cold so it doesn't make much difference.
And.. the chicken or the egg?
As long as I can eat scrambled eggs on toast, hard boiled eggs with bread fingers and cakes, and pizza and buns, and sauteed chicken in peanut sauce and all that is the culinary world of the egg and the chicken, I couldn't care LESS.
period.
*cough* *cough*
Sunday, November 01, 2009
un appreciated adventures
Episode 2:
Again I was sitting at table, relaxing, inhaling the evening air, watching the people, bla bla bla. Still insisting (uselessly) that salads have less calories than normal plates , I had ordered a salad. Now this salad had floors/storeys. At this point I was only able to see and inspect the topmost layer, which, believe me, looked delcious. Further inspections showed that it also TASTED delicious, this top floor. But curiosity made the cat want to differ, and so I innocently delved into the next floor, mixed salad.
It went something like this:
*munch* *munch* *munch* *CRUNCH* *munch*.
My mind quickly recalled the list of supposed ingredients of this salad, and none was supposted to CRUNCH. A shiver ran down my spine as a very long array of possible producers of this CRUNCH now flashed very clearly. Finally I simply blamed my imagination and proceded to intaking another lot.
This time, it went something like this:
* CRUNCH* *muCRUNCH* *CRUNCH* *CRUNCH*.
yukk. I spit it out. It felt like sand, but there was nothing in there. I could se nothing that remotely looked like sand. And no, it wasn't a particularly hard time of ground pepper. It didn't taste like pepper.
What does one do in such occasions. Drop the fork and stop eating. No I didn't complain, even though I should have because I just wanted to leave.
Again, no gran Finale.
Again I was sitting at table, relaxing, inhaling the evening air, watching the people, bla bla bla. Still insisting (uselessly) that salads have less calories than normal plates , I had ordered a salad. Now this salad had floors/storeys. At this point I was only able to see and inspect the topmost layer, which, believe me, looked delcious. Further inspections showed that it also TASTED delicious, this top floor. But curiosity made the cat want to differ, and so I innocently delved into the next floor, mixed salad.
It went something like this:
*munch* *munch* *munch* *CRUNCH* *munch*.
My mind quickly recalled the list of supposed ingredients of this salad, and none was supposted to CRUNCH. A shiver ran down my spine as a very long array of possible producers of this CRUNCH now flashed very clearly. Finally I simply blamed my imagination and proceded to intaking another lot.
This time, it went something like this:
* CRUNCH* *muCRUNCH* *CRUNCH* *CRUNCH*.
yukk. I spit it out. It felt like sand, but there was nothing in there. I could se nothing that remotely looked like sand. And no, it wasn't a particularly hard time of ground pepper. It didn't taste like pepper.
What does one do in such occasions. Drop the fork and stop eating. No I didn't complain, even though I should have because I just wanted to leave.
Again, no gran Finale.
un appreciated adventures
Episode 1:
Was sitting at table, eating, enjoying a calm afternoon and relaxing while a slow hussle and busstle of customers came and went. All was next to perfect until my gaze fell on something black that could have easily been mistaken for a pattern on the tiles hadn't:
a) the tiles been completely white
b) the thing been proud owner of 6 legs
c) the said thing been moving
Mr. C was taking a stroll because like me, he seemed to enjoy the lovely afternoon-turning-into-night air. It moved around casually, admiring what was offered for dinner, artfully avoiding feet and obviously giving that extra attention to me.. by now turned completely green. Because, I was not only faced with the fear of a very fast, unpredictable, huge, black insect but also with the fear of the food I was eating. The reason being very obvious: Mr. C. had made his grand entrance through the kitchen door, the place were my up-until-a-few-minutes-before delicious plate was prepared!
From here, the most logic thing to make.. raise your frightened finger and bring Mr. C. to the attention of a waiter. For an extra precaution I added a "squash it" with the logical "There's a cockroach over there." The waiter, most politely, knodded and walked off. Incredibly not coming back. By this time me and Mr. C. had put aside all differnces (except that where his feet were fixed on the ground, and mine were skillfully raised at a safe height), put aside all formalities and were on personal basis.
Don't expect a climax other than our exchanging email address, because there isn't going to be one. The waiter continued busying himself with the customers and ignoring Mr. C. I stood, paid and walked out.
*Fullstop, start a new line*
Was sitting at table, eating, enjoying a calm afternoon and relaxing while a slow hussle and busstle of customers came and went. All was next to perfect until my gaze fell on something black that could have easily been mistaken for a pattern on the tiles hadn't:
a) the tiles been completely white
b) the thing been proud owner of 6 legs
c) the said thing been moving
Mr. C was taking a stroll because like me, he seemed to enjoy the lovely afternoon-turning-into-night air. It moved around casually, admiring what was offered for dinner, artfully avoiding feet and obviously giving that extra attention to me.. by now turned completely green. Because, I was not only faced with the fear of a very fast, unpredictable, huge, black insect but also with the fear of the food I was eating. The reason being very obvious: Mr. C. had made his grand entrance through the kitchen door, the place were my up-until-a-few-minutes-before delicious plate was prepared!
From here, the most logic thing to make.. raise your frightened finger and bring Mr. C. to the attention of a waiter. For an extra precaution I added a "squash it" with the logical "There's a cockroach over there." The waiter, most politely, knodded and walked off. Incredibly not coming back. By this time me and Mr. C. had put aside all differnces (except that where his feet were fixed on the ground, and mine were skillfully raised at a safe height), put aside all formalities and were on personal basis.
Don't expect a climax other than our exchanging email address, because there isn't going to be one. The waiter continued busying himself with the customers and ignoring Mr. C. I stood, paid and walked out.
*Fullstop, start a new line*
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
once upon a time..
... a loooong loooong time ago, when the skies were bluer and the grass greener; there existed a gadget that eased everyone's life by so much. It was indespensable for the peaceful flow of the life and everyone used this simple yet indespensable object: THE INDICATOR. Many nowadays have never heard of this mysterious word, and those who are familiar with it, know only the rumour fogging its existance. The indicator is indeed existinct nowadays because an evil witch one day cursed it with incredibly base/ shallow/ stupid/ (...) users. And that, my dear friends, saw the end of it.
The devastation that this vanish-ment has caused is endless. The users.. the dear drivers, are sinking deeper and deeper in the witch's curse and the roads are doomed to perish in the fires of hell.
Please, prepare yourself for the worse, ideally buy a new car in order to break it better, study the oxfort dictionary of swear words, and amass onto the tarmac. May God be with you.
The devastation that this vanish-ment has caused is endless. The users.. the dear drivers, are sinking deeper and deeper in the witch's curse and the roads are doomed to perish in the fires of hell.
Please, prepare yourself for the worse, ideally buy a new car in order to break it better, study the oxfort dictionary of swear words, and amass onto the tarmac. May God be with you.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Dopo di te..
se l'amore fosse un peso, vorrei essere una campionessa di pesi mondiali.
se l'amore fosse un profumo, sarebbe l'essenza dell'esistenza.
se l'amore fosse un colore, l'arcobaleno sarrebbe soltanto la sua ombra.
se l'amore fosse una stella, l'umanita' abiterebbe su essa.
se l'amore fosse un ora, sarebbe quella di un miglior' inizio.
e se l'amore non lasciasse cicatrici, forse la vita sarebbe piu' perfetta.
se l'amore fosse un profumo, sarebbe l'essenza dell'esistenza.
se l'amore fosse un colore, l'arcobaleno sarrebbe soltanto la sua ombra.
se l'amore fosse una stella, l'umanita' abiterebbe su essa.
se l'amore fosse un ora, sarebbe quella di un miglior' inizio.
e se l'amore non lasciasse cicatrici, forse la vita sarebbe piu' perfetta.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
les femmes on the road..
Why is it that many women are an incarnation of a half eaten banana, on the road? And why is it that no matter what men do, they will not ever get the same reputation?
Well, after plenty of enlightening experiences in the field, I have starting forming some sort of conclusions on the matter at hand. These conclusions have been aged skillfully in hours-long in traffic very early in the morning.
Let us start with men.. and by the end of this explanation, I will barely need to go over the women's one; it will already be clear. So, men do as many stupidities on the road as women; if not MORE. However, and this is the big but.. they do it and they are aware of it. They risk it and they enjoy it. You can see a man's satisfied grin when he speeds out of a side road and missing you by that much. They tease you with their risk-taking; and I would dare say even flirt with your car. In a few words, men are show offs.
Women are plainly, the exact opposite. Women do stupid things on the road just because stupidity mode is active at that particular time. Want proof? Look at a woman's face when SHE speeds out of a side road and missing you by that much. You are right! You can't see her face because she hasn't looked! .. because she didn't even realize she was doing something completely wrong (and completely against the law if we had to take this on a more serious level). And I warn you.. don't be surprised if when you honk the living hell out of your car horn at her, she starts verbally attacking you and calling you blind, and sending you, your mother and all your relatives for a trip around the world in 80 words.
And so,I bid you all goodnight, and good luck on the road..
Well, after plenty of enlightening experiences in the field, I have starting forming some sort of conclusions on the matter at hand. These conclusions have been aged skillfully in hours-long in traffic very early in the morning.
Let us start with men.. and by the end of this explanation, I will barely need to go over the women's one; it will already be clear. So, men do as many stupidities on the road as women; if not MORE. However, and this is the big but.. they do it and they are aware of it. They risk it and they enjoy it. You can see a man's satisfied grin when he speeds out of a side road and missing you by that much. They tease you with their risk-taking; and I would dare say even flirt with your car. In a few words, men are show offs.
Women are plainly, the exact opposite. Women do stupid things on the road just because stupidity mode is active at that particular time. Want proof? Look at a woman's face when SHE speeds out of a side road and missing you by that much. You are right! You can't see her face because she hasn't looked! .. because she didn't even realize she was doing something completely wrong (and completely against the law if we had to take this on a more serious level). And I warn you.. don't be surprised if when you honk the living hell out of your car horn at her, she starts verbally attacking you and calling you blind, and sending you, your mother and all your relatives for a trip around the world in 80 words.
And so,I bid you all goodnight, and good luck on the road..
Monday, September 21, 2009
of carnivors and men
There's this alien film at the cinema. It looks scaaary..
.. but 90% of movies are scaaary for me so, its beyond the point. What is within the point is the following;
I was trying to think of a good excuse to convince myself I should stop eating meat; the real reasons being that it makes me fat quicker and that how they "grow" the meat today is not altogether too healthy. But the real reason did not stop me from eating it so plan B was to decieve myself with a fake reason. Now that I'm past that phase; yes, it was a stupid plan, but it actually led me to a really good reason why I (and everyone else for that matter) should stop eating meat.
Ok, Goodnight and see you at the next blog post.
Haha, no. Jokes apart. We eat meat, ie: we exterminate other creatures (and the only reason why they are not extinct is that we actually mass produce them so we can eventually exterminate them) because people believe the Survival of the Fittest Theory. Ok, fine. But that equation is nice and comfy because we are the fittest. The chickens that we eat cannot think on the same lines because, hey, they're not the fittest. So, thinking back about the movie, I put in aliens that are actually fitter than human beings into the equation, and surprise! the equation is no longer comfortable. If carnivor aliens had to come along, according to the equation that humans so carefully devised, they would have all the right in the world to eat us. And we would not have any "voce in capitolo". Terrifying and cringing to say the least.
Basically now I get the feeling that the Survival of the Fittest Theory is just a lame excuse that we invented to make us less guilty of killing other creatures.
For now its just a feeling/incling. I'll let it age for a while in my parking lot and see what turns up.. but its definitly some to CHEW ON ..
*munch*
.. but 90% of movies are scaaary for me so, its beyond the point. What is within the point is the following;
I was trying to think of a good excuse to convince myself I should stop eating meat; the real reasons being that it makes me fat quicker and that how they "grow" the meat today is not altogether too healthy. But the real reason did not stop me from eating it so plan B was to decieve myself with a fake reason. Now that I'm past that phase; yes, it was a stupid plan, but it actually led me to a really good reason why I (and everyone else for that matter) should stop eating meat.
Ok, Goodnight and see you at the next blog post.
Haha, no. Jokes apart. We eat meat, ie: we exterminate other creatures (and the only reason why they are not extinct is that we actually mass produce them so we can eventually exterminate them) because people believe the Survival of the Fittest Theory. Ok, fine. But that equation is nice and comfy because we are the fittest. The chickens that we eat cannot think on the same lines because, hey, they're not the fittest. So, thinking back about the movie, I put in aliens that are actually fitter than human beings into the equation, and surprise! the equation is no longer comfortable. If carnivor aliens had to come along, according to the equation that humans so carefully devised, they would have all the right in the world to eat us. And we would not have any "voce in capitolo". Terrifying and cringing to say the least.
Basically now I get the feeling that the Survival of the Fittest Theory is just a lame excuse that we invented to make us less guilty of killing other creatures.
For now its just a feeling/incling. I'll let it age for a while in my parking lot and see what turns up.. but its definitly some to CHEW ON ..
*munch*
Sunday, September 20, 2009
peace ville
I hadn't been there for months. Various are the reasons that led to this elimination of the place from my to-go-to list; however I needed to refresh my ardour towards these reasons and so, decided to pay peace a visit.
First thing that strikes when you are my age is that 90% of the humans present are younger than you, with the result that you start feeling old and crippled. Self confidence 0; PV 1
Second thing that strikes is that youngsters drink A LOT, and have no problem with being drunk, making a fool out of themselves etc etc. The culture today is that drink is good for socialization and that the more you drink the cooler you are. By the 5th drink you're chest freezer-cool. Seeing such things make me feel like our society is doing a complete mess out of the people that will pull the ropes in the very near future. Self confidence 0 , PV 2
Then you see the way people dress. First you start laughing at how absolutely inappropriatly dressed many people are. Unfortunately (for them) its the ladies that have the record in this contest; ranging from pure mis-match of style/fashion ignorance to dresses which would perfectly disguise as tee-shirts for their length, cleavages that steal the "Grand(our)" from the Grand Canyon and bare bellies on show like a pure-breed, white, Persian Chiuaua at a fish show. All this too many times hanging on (/ out of/ off) bodies which would do with a size or two MORE of clothes or bodies of not so minute dimensions. And then you wonder how sometimes women are considered objects. After wiping of the tears of laughter you start shedding tears of disgrace. I'm not really sure who should get the point here.
The rest is all men with desperate looks and desperate behaviour trying very hard to hook up girls with desperately lonely looks. Oh, and we can't forget the only too young boys and girls roaming around as if it were normal that at such a young age one goes and f**** up his/her life only to be able to boast about having been there at school. I would not be surprised to hear a "hello there miss" and a "can I not do my homework?.. I'll be too hung over tomorrow to bother.."
I'd really so much rather not see these things. Someone needs to start doing something about these situations.. soon.
*silence* PV wins the game.
First thing that strikes when you are my age is that 90% of the humans present are younger than you, with the result that you start feeling old and crippled. Self confidence 0; PV 1
Second thing that strikes is that youngsters drink A LOT, and have no problem with being drunk, making a fool out of themselves etc etc. The culture today is that drink is good for socialization and that the more you drink the cooler you are. By the 5th drink you're chest freezer-cool. Seeing such things make me feel like our society is doing a complete mess out of the people that will pull the ropes in the very near future. Self confidence 0 , PV 2
Then you see the way people dress. First you start laughing at how absolutely inappropriatly dressed many people are. Unfortunately (for them) its the ladies that have the record in this contest; ranging from pure mis-match of style/fashion ignorance to dresses which would perfectly disguise as tee-shirts for their length, cleavages that steal the "Grand(our)" from the Grand Canyon and bare bellies on show like a pure-breed, white, Persian Chiuaua at a fish show. All this too many times hanging on (/ out of/ off) bodies which would do with a size or two MORE of clothes or bodies of not so minute dimensions. And then you wonder how sometimes women are considered objects. After wiping of the tears of laughter you start shedding tears of disgrace. I'm not really sure who should get the point here.
The rest is all men with desperate looks and desperate behaviour trying very hard to hook up girls with desperately lonely looks. Oh, and we can't forget the only too young boys and girls roaming around as if it were normal that at such a young age one goes and f**** up his/her life only to be able to boast about having been there at school. I would not be surprised to hear a "hello there miss" and a "can I not do my homework?.. I'll be too hung over tomorrow to bother.."
I'd really so much rather not see these things. Someone needs to start doing something about these situations.. soon.
*silence* PV wins the game.
Monday, August 24, 2009
One of those days
Heh. One of those days is today. Today is one of those days. Odious, aimless, hot, long (too long) days. Monday. When the rest of the world is out doing something; generally work, and you are at home spending time thinking about your next feat. Things you should really do, not to feel miserable are: CHANGE OUT OF YOUR PYJAMAS, WASH YOUR TEETH, WAKE UP EARLY and DON'T PANIC. I tend to panic, and panic on such days leads to dispair. Oh, by the way, don't tell anyone about your dilemma/dispair/aimlessness because these people are the same people that have a day's work ahead of them and going over to them moaning about how relaxed you're going to be while they're working their arse off is not what I'd call insurable behaviour.
So far so good. Amongst the things you can do are the following:
- wash your car
- take a long bath, possibly reading a chapter or two while you're there
- watch a movie online
- go on You Tube and search for "stand up commedy". Dane Cook, Carlos Mensia, Jeff Dunham and so on and so forth.
- Put some cucumber slices on your eyes and while you're there, try to invent a nice fairytale with you as protagonist. You'll come to realise that as simple as they might sound, fairytales are mighty hard to make up and make sense. Please, don't be shocked when later you feel stupid that you were making up a fairytale.. with additional cucumbers on your eyes.
- take out your Memories Box and go through it. And your photo albums, and leaf through them.
- Go out, somewhere within walking distance (tssk, EVERYWHERE is within walking distance in Malta!), and buy something stupid and cheap; like a rubber or insect spray.
- Try on clothes, mix and match. Experiment some new combinates. You'll be surprised how much potential your wardrobe has.
- Cook something! A nice chocolate cake, or some blueberry buns. Njam.
- Go to the Dvd Rentals and rent a dvd. No, don't eventually watch it. Just go there and spend time searching for it.
- Drink a shandy on the roof of your house. Its important that you drink Shandy, not beer. You'll see why when you do.
- Go and have lunch somewhere relaxing. On. Your. Own.
- And for Dinner? Obviously.. SUSHI! :D
is that enough for a day? I think so. : )
Amen
So far so good. Amongst the things you can do are the following:
- wash your car
- take a long bath, possibly reading a chapter or two while you're there
- watch a movie online
- go on You Tube and search for "stand up commedy". Dane Cook, Carlos Mensia, Jeff Dunham and so on and so forth.
- Put some cucumber slices on your eyes and while you're there, try to invent a nice fairytale with you as protagonist. You'll come to realise that as simple as they might sound, fairytales are mighty hard to make up and make sense. Please, don't be shocked when later you feel stupid that you were making up a fairytale.. with additional cucumbers on your eyes.
- take out your Memories Box and go through it. And your photo albums, and leaf through them.
- Go out, somewhere within walking distance (tssk, EVERYWHERE is within walking distance in Malta!), and buy something stupid and cheap; like a rubber or insect spray.
- Try on clothes, mix and match. Experiment some new combinates. You'll be surprised how much potential your wardrobe has.
- Cook something! A nice chocolate cake, or some blueberry buns. Njam.
- Go to the Dvd Rentals and rent a dvd. No, don't eventually watch it. Just go there and spend time searching for it.
- Drink a shandy on the roof of your house. Its important that you drink Shandy, not beer. You'll see why when you do.
- Go and have lunch somewhere relaxing. On. Your. Own.
- And for Dinner? Obviously.. SUSHI! :D
is that enough for a day? I think so. : )
Amen
Sunday, August 23, 2009
it turns out that..
It turns out that Prince Charmings exist, but they are oh so boringly perfect.
It turns out that sushi is delicious!
It turns out that life is short.
It turns out that life is short and complicated.
It turns out that life is short, complicated, but extremely simple to figure out.
It turns out that mothers are always right.
It turns out that good looks get you wherever you like.
It turns out that to look good you have to feel good.
It turns out that in life there will always be someone that is better than you, no matter how hard you try.
It turns out that all men have the same thing in mind..
It turns out that women like it that way, somehow.
It turns out that the harder you look for something, the less you are going to find it.
It turns out that even a silver stick has a dirty part.. nothing is perfect.
It turns out that life has very queer coincidences.
It turns out that that they are still coincidences.
It turns out that menopause is horrid on women.
It turns out that it is even worse for their husbands.
It turns out that younger sibblings are always the better off.
It turns out that the length of your legs is inversely proportional to the size of your brain.
It turns out that the answer to the ultimate question about life, the universe and everything IS 42.
It turns out that it is also the largest number you can use in Super 5, by a strange coincidence.
It turns out that life is fair after all.. €1,000,000 had to be split between 2 rather than 1 lucky winner.
It turns out that many women are arses when driving.
It turns out that this doesn't mean that men are good drivers.. on the contrary.
It turns out that whatever disress you might have, someone else is in a worse state than you.
It turns out that you start wondering who the poor guy is.
AMEN.
Ps, it turns out that these are the revelations of just one day.
It turns out that sushi is delicious!
It turns out that life is short.
It turns out that life is short and complicated.
It turns out that life is short, complicated, but extremely simple to figure out.
It turns out that mothers are always right.
It turns out that good looks get you wherever you like.
It turns out that to look good you have to feel good.
It turns out that in life there will always be someone that is better than you, no matter how hard you try.
It turns out that all men have the same thing in mind..
It turns out that women like it that way, somehow.
It turns out that the harder you look for something, the less you are going to find it.
It turns out that even a silver stick has a dirty part.. nothing is perfect.
It turns out that life has very queer coincidences.
It turns out that that they are still coincidences.
It turns out that menopause is horrid on women.
It turns out that it is even worse for their husbands.
It turns out that younger sibblings are always the better off.
It turns out that the length of your legs is inversely proportional to the size of your brain.
It turns out that the answer to the ultimate question about life, the universe and everything IS 42.
It turns out that it is also the largest number you can use in Super 5, by a strange coincidence.
It turns out that life is fair after all.. €1,000,000 had to be split between 2 rather than 1 lucky winner.
It turns out that many women are arses when driving.
It turns out that this doesn't mean that men are good drivers.. on the contrary.
It turns out that whatever disress you might have, someone else is in a worse state than you.
It turns out that you start wondering who the poor guy is.
AMEN.
Ps, it turns out that these are the revelations of just one day.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Pause
Ah.. life is stressful. Put aside all the work, relationships, chores, problems, fights, meals (heh), birthdays etc etc etc. You'd think that without all those, life would suddenly lighten up and feel better. Well, I am ready to bet whichever part of my body I have not yet betted in the past blogs that life would still be a pain in the lower regions of my back. Why? very simple. Because life minus all the stressful things leaves ...
life - stressful things = US
And us, ourselves, are also a source of stress. No one can deny this. We spend so much time and money and tears (at least I do) to look and feel good that probably, with another simple sum we'd realise that we are our greatest source of stress. It's so hard to not worry about what people think or will think about us. How we behave and look makes all the difference. It makes all the difference to me. If I don't feel good with how I look, my self esteem goes down the drain and out into the Pacific Ocean.
And all this brought my trail of thought to a curious stand. What do other people do when they are on their own? How do they behave? I mean, do people still sit neatly, leg on leg, backs straight, tummies in, boobs out? Doesn't anyone ever pick his nose or burp or fart? Because I don't ever (or almost never) hear or see anyone do these things in public. If so, there must be a great deal of stored, inflammable gas in houses everywhere, and the only things stopping it from catching fire are little green balls of dried snot stuck in the depths of everyone's noses!
I, for one, look how I am. If I am feeling ok , then I am looking ok. If I feel a disaster, than most probably I look like my wardrobe.. the inside of it. And this is irrelevant of where I am and with whom I am. So basically I burp and fart, but oh so very discreetly.. and very rarely somehow. But because I am always like that! No effort there. On the other hand, right now I am sitting leisurely on the sofa, legs outstretched, hair pulled up in a bun and wearing a shorts that is to the top what I am to Wee Wee Xplot 13 in some galaxy a gazzilion million light centuries away. I would NOT appear like this in public, even if public was the greengrocer guy. I am not saying that people should burp and fart and swear and shout in public like they do in the privacy of their homes. Because that shouldn't be done so often, even in the privacy of a home.
So, my suggestion is that even if life makes us wear another face and another character (and that's why they call it a bitch) we should always allow ourselves the time of being ourselves comfortably every single day. For those 30minutes, undo that tie, walk about in your underwear, ditch the heals, remove all the make up and just put on a smile. PAUSE and savour yourself in essence.
life - stressful things = US
And us, ourselves, are also a source of stress. No one can deny this. We spend so much time and money and tears (at least I do) to look and feel good that probably, with another simple sum we'd realise that we are our greatest source of stress. It's so hard to not worry about what people think or will think about us. How we behave and look makes all the difference. It makes all the difference to me. If I don't feel good with how I look, my self esteem goes down the drain and out into the Pacific Ocean.
And all this brought my trail of thought to a curious stand. What do other people do when they are on their own? How do they behave? I mean, do people still sit neatly, leg on leg, backs straight, tummies in, boobs out? Doesn't anyone ever pick his nose or burp or fart? Because I don't ever (or almost never) hear or see anyone do these things in public. If so, there must be a great deal of stored, inflammable gas in houses everywhere, and the only things stopping it from catching fire are little green balls of dried snot stuck in the depths of everyone's noses!
I, for one, look how I am. If I am feeling ok , then I am looking ok. If I feel a disaster, than most probably I look like my wardrobe.. the inside of it. And this is irrelevant of where I am and with whom I am. So basically I burp and fart, but oh so very discreetly.. and very rarely somehow. But because I am always like that! No effort there. On the other hand, right now I am sitting leisurely on the sofa, legs outstretched, hair pulled up in a bun and wearing a shorts that is to the top what I am to Wee Wee Xplot 13 in some galaxy a gazzilion million light centuries away. I would NOT appear like this in public, even if public was the greengrocer guy. I am not saying that people should burp and fart and swear and shout in public like they do in the privacy of their homes. Because that shouldn't be done so often, even in the privacy of a home.
So, my suggestion is that even if life makes us wear another face and another character (and that's why they call it a bitch) we should always allow ourselves the time of being ourselves comfortably every single day. For those 30minutes, undo that tie, walk about in your underwear, ditch the heals, remove all the make up and just put on a smile. PAUSE and savour yourself in essence.
Monday, July 20, 2009
204 Italia Uno; Michale Buble in concerto..
And again, that incling urge to grab a herd of thoughts and put them down on paper (or screen) before they go and graze elsewhere. Today's trail started, as usual, with something that has absolutely nothing to do with writing.. or rather, it has to do with writing, but not with thoughts, oh, anyway..
I am sitting on the sofa, its very hot, and I really don't feel like standing up and walking to the fan to switch it on. So I let it stand there, staring at me, blankly, like only a fan can do. The sofa is comfortable, and on the tv there's Michael Buble'. He's stunning an audience in New York. And what do you think ruined this moment? Hm, nothing really, but something did stear a little bit of irritation in my perfect moment; there on the screen, in that little, horizontal box with the channel number and the time, and the title of the programme, I see, written in bold print as if nothing were wrong, and as if grammer was just a myth similar to that of the minotour but more tragic, MICHALE BUBLE. Now, ok, I can close an eye for the missing apostrophe. But, can I close the other eye for completely ruining the melody to the sound of his name? Mikalej! I mean, they didn't have to write an essay about the poor guy, they just had to write his name! And still they wrote it wrong. *sigh* (and in the back of the back of my mind I am thinking, that mistake is typical of me...)
Ah, anyway, that was my anchor. The sudden inclination towards the two paragraphs I just finished. It's still hot. And I want to talk about happy endings. A romantic story, or a film can have a happy ending. One. Only. No matter how hard you try, the story has to end, just that once. Life, people, is thankfully not a story. It doesn't have to follow rules, and even if there were any rules, it would still proudly refuse to acknoledge their existance, let alone pass by them. It starts, but along the line it has many endings, even after death. People still carry each other around in their hearts and in their memories. I am growing up, and blooming slowly into an adult, yet, I still am believing heartly in happy endings. Yes, life gives you sour grapes, plenty of them indeed; but I'm sure that we all get at least one really happy ending, that at least just for one morning makes us wake up with a jump and a warm fuzzy feeling in our stomach. We live for these moments even if we don't admit it, and it is with anticipation of these moments that we scrape through tough experiences.
And happy endings come in different shapes and sizes to suite all our needs. The classic they-lived-happily-ever-after are the rarest because they are dull, and artificial. But even finding your garage keys at the bottom of your handbag and saving yourself 2 flights of steps is a mini happy ending.
Actually, "ending" isn't even the right word for it. An ending .. stops. The warm fuzzy feeling continues, and blends away. Its more like a happy BLending: a nice event that blends into your life and gives it a boost.
So with this I conclude that no matter how old I get, I will never, and I say "never" and I stamp my foot firmly, give up on warm fuzzy feelings. Life is working for those moments, and them moment I stop living for them, I will die.
*simmer*
I am sitting on the sofa, its very hot, and I really don't feel like standing up and walking to the fan to switch it on. So I let it stand there, staring at me, blankly, like only a fan can do. The sofa is comfortable, and on the tv there's Michael Buble'. He's stunning an audience in New York. And what do you think ruined this moment? Hm, nothing really, but something did stear a little bit of irritation in my perfect moment; there on the screen, in that little, horizontal box with the channel number and the time, and the title of the programme, I see, written in bold print as if nothing were wrong, and as if grammer was just a myth similar to that of the minotour but more tragic, MICHALE BUBLE. Now, ok, I can close an eye for the missing apostrophe. But, can I close the other eye for completely ruining the melody to the sound of his name? Mikalej! I mean, they didn't have to write an essay about the poor guy, they just had to write his name! And still they wrote it wrong. *sigh* (and in the back of the back of my mind I am thinking, that mistake is typical of me...)
Ah, anyway, that was my anchor. The sudden inclination towards the two paragraphs I just finished. It's still hot. And I want to talk about happy endings. A romantic story, or a film can have a happy ending. One. Only. No matter how hard you try, the story has to end, just that once. Life, people, is thankfully not a story. It doesn't have to follow rules, and even if there were any rules, it would still proudly refuse to acknoledge their existance, let alone pass by them. It starts, but along the line it has many endings, even after death. People still carry each other around in their hearts and in their memories. I am growing up, and blooming slowly into an adult, yet, I still am believing heartly in happy endings. Yes, life gives you sour grapes, plenty of them indeed; but I'm sure that we all get at least one really happy ending, that at least just for one morning makes us wake up with a jump and a warm fuzzy feeling in our stomach. We live for these moments even if we don't admit it, and it is with anticipation of these moments that we scrape through tough experiences.
And happy endings come in different shapes and sizes to suite all our needs. The classic they-lived-happily-ever-after are the rarest because they are dull, and artificial. But even finding your garage keys at the bottom of your handbag and saving yourself 2 flights of steps is a mini happy ending.
Actually, "ending" isn't even the right word for it. An ending .. stops. The warm fuzzy feeling continues, and blends away. Its more like a happy BLending: a nice event that blends into your life and gives it a boost.
So with this I conclude that no matter how old I get, I will never, and I say "never" and I stamp my foot firmly, give up on warm fuzzy feelings. Life is working for those moments, and them moment I stop living for them, I will die.
*simmer*
Monday, July 06, 2009
continued..
And she sped off.. dragging her body behind; but the mind (little as it was) was so occupied with avoiding the approaching ocean sized droplet that it forgot to program a destination. This realization came after precicely 10 jiffies (jiffy being an actual time measurement to show a fraction of a millisecond) and with the realization, Cicra simply stopped, eyes wide open, and scratched her forehead.
And the dinosaur? Well, he just sped past her.. not noticing she stopped. After all, dinosaurs are not meant to be intelligent. It wooshed past her and crashed straight into a huge hotel which usually stood nicely on the promenade, but which today stood in a dinosaur's way.
Now only its tail was visible through the hole it had created. It was not moving, obviously. Knocking down a double cemented fortified wall wasn't anywhere near the dinasour's abilities. Cicra walked forward.. and on approaching noticed a buzzing nose. Small sparks were coming out of the dinasaur, now robot.. and on its back, Cicra now noticed a red button. She walked up to it and pushed hard at it.. At first nothing happened but slowly, that red button started turning brown, and triangular until it became a sandwich. And looking around she no longer saw the hotel's ruined lobby, but students laughing at her squashing her lunch. Beside the now ruined bread was a note reading "Today you won the battle, but I will win the war! Beware Super Cicra!"
And the dinosaur? Well, he just sped past her.. not noticing she stopped. After all, dinosaurs are not meant to be intelligent. It wooshed past her and crashed straight into a huge hotel which usually stood nicely on the promenade, but which today stood in a dinosaur's way.
Now only its tail was visible through the hole it had created. It was not moving, obviously. Knocking down a double cemented fortified wall wasn't anywhere near the dinasour's abilities. Cicra walked forward.. and on approaching noticed a buzzing nose. Small sparks were coming out of the dinasaur, now robot.. and on its back, Cicra now noticed a red button. She walked up to it and pushed hard at it.. At first nothing happened but slowly, that red button started turning brown, and triangular until it became a sandwich. And looking around she no longer saw the hotel's ruined lobby, but students laughing at her squashing her lunch. Beside the now ruined bread was a note reading "Today you won the battle, but I will win the war! Beware Super Cicra!"
Monday, June 29, 2009
24_Candles
It's not the day, the gifts or the alcohol you drink. But birthdays are special because they come at a time when you really need an ego boost. On your birthday, the really really special people do the really really special things that make you feel the happiest person on earth, just because you were born that day, a few years back. People actually bother to stop at shop(S) to buy you a card that suites your character/istics, they bother to pass it round and sign it, they bother to meet with you and do lovely sweet things like buying you a secret drink and doing an awesome toast to your health. They leave your birthday card on your pillow, and ask you if you are drunk when you go to them and kiss them on the cheek in the middle of the night to thank them. And they don't open their eyes, they just smile, and you can see that smile even in the darkness, because its warm. And they kiss you goodnight in just that tiny whiny little bit warmer way after giving up a day's work just to spend some more hours with you, even if its doing nothing. They also make you a special home-made card after wracking their brains and the internet for a decent idea, and they bake you a small cake by mistake, and feel really horrible about it.
Thankyou all for it. For the special little efforts which make me a stronger person. Thank you for your support, love and advice. For your sincerity and bluntness. The wellness I feel is undescribable. It is the pleasure of knowing that yes, I am alone, breaking through life.. but I have all you people egging me on and believing in everything I do.
And even if its only 2.15am on my birthday, it has been the sweetest, most amazing birthdays of all.
Thanks.
Thankyou all for it. For the special little efforts which make me a stronger person. Thank you for your support, love and advice. For your sincerity and bluntness. The wellness I feel is undescribable. It is the pleasure of knowing that yes, I am alone, breaking through life.. but I have all you people egging me on and believing in everything I do.
And even if its only 2.15am on my birthday, it has been the sweetest, most amazing birthdays of all.
Thanks.
Monday, June 22, 2009
read and you'll see what sharp teeth and drool have to do with summer and a seaside promenade.
Cicra walked lazily along the promenade.. the sun was shining, the sea was gleaming in the said sun's rays, the clouds were gliding by carelessly in a warm summer's breeze, occasional bits and pieces flew across the empty road and caught fire on the hot tarmac, the silence was tangible, the clock on the church struck 11.00am on this still extremely silent monday morning...
Cicra stopped. She had sensed something was wrong, and looking around she saw... that she had forgotten to wear her (horrific) earrings.
"Darn it,"..
and the utternace of those feeble words dried the last few drops of spit that she had in her mouth, causing her to dryly drool for a freezing cold, fresh, crystal clear bottle of mineral water.
So she delicately walked over to the kiosk, only massacaring her left knee against one wooden bench, and leaving the right one intact. No sooner had she walked there that she realized it was closed..at 11.00am, in the middle of a hot summer. And only then did it strike her that, in fact, there was no one around.. not a soul could be seen in all directions, as far as the eyes could stretch. And this was a tourist area, full of shops and restuarants and pubs and banks.
Out came the intergalactic amulsifier of partially liquidized radio waves.. her super special mobile phone. But Le Mon didn't answer.
She would have considred visiting his house if it weren't for an ear-scorching ROOOOAAAR and the sound of footsteps (gigantic ones) getting closer and closer, sending tremors across the surface of the threatened promenade up till Cicra's throat.
The footsteps got closer and closer, and the roaring louder and louder, until finally and unfortunately a massive dinasourish head popped out from behind one of the tall apartement buildings. It was ugly, even for Cicra's standards, and she could already smell its atrouscious bad breadth from so far.
Far was a useless word in this case, because the distance was covered in a slipping-of-a-sweat-droplet-off-a-forehead.
And did Cicra move an inch? ..
She had instead forgotten her nationality, which was a heroic (<-- pun) feat in so little time. Terror, it was later discovered, was the fastest traveller existing.. contrary to the popular belief that put light at the top of the list. I.t. (Ignatius Tremendes) was standing in his full height (which was approximately very high) above Cicra. Towering perpendicularly... muscles tensed, claws clutched, teeth numerous and sharp and a glassy look.
Needless to say, Cicra was still frozen to the spot. It was only when a drop of dinasaur drool which would have filled the Aswan High Dam in a time of complete draught, slid off his 23rd-from-right, upper canine and gathered gravitational speed towards our heroine that the little that was left of her brain (it wasn't the dinasaur's doing), reacted energatically to the approaching humidity and sped off, dragging the body behind.
TO BE CONTINUED, soon hopefully
Cicra stopped. She had sensed something was wrong, and looking around she saw... that she had forgotten to wear her (horrific) earrings.
"Darn it,"..
and the utternace of those feeble words dried the last few drops of spit that she had in her mouth, causing her to dryly drool for a freezing cold, fresh, crystal clear bottle of mineral water.
So she delicately walked over to the kiosk, only massacaring her left knee against one wooden bench, and leaving the right one intact. No sooner had she walked there that she realized it was closed..at 11.00am, in the middle of a hot summer. And only then did it strike her that, in fact, there was no one around.. not a soul could be seen in all directions, as far as the eyes could stretch. And this was a tourist area, full of shops and restuarants and pubs and banks.
Out came the intergalactic amulsifier of partially liquidized radio waves.. her super special mobile phone. But Le Mon didn't answer.
She would have considred visiting his house if it weren't for an ear-scorching ROOOOAAAR and the sound of footsteps (gigantic ones) getting closer and closer, sending tremors across the surface of the threatened promenade up till Cicra's throat.
The footsteps got closer and closer, and the roaring louder and louder, until finally and unfortunately a massive dinasourish head popped out from behind one of the tall apartement buildings. It was ugly, even for Cicra's standards, and she could already smell its atrouscious bad breadth from so far.
Far was a useless word in this case, because the distance was covered in a slipping-of-a-sweat-droplet-off-a-forehead.
And did Cicra move an inch? ..
She had instead forgotten her nationality, which was a heroic (<-- pun) feat in so little time. Terror, it was later discovered, was the fastest traveller existing.. contrary to the popular belief that put light at the top of the list. I.t. (Ignatius Tremendes) was standing in his full height (which was approximately very high) above Cicra. Towering perpendicularly... muscles tensed, claws clutched, teeth numerous and sharp and a glassy look.
Needless to say, Cicra was still frozen to the spot. It was only when a drop of dinasaur drool which would have filled the Aswan High Dam in a time of complete draught, slid off his 23rd-from-right, upper canine and gathered gravitational speed towards our heroine that the little that was left of her brain (it wasn't the dinasaur's doing), reacted energatically to the approaching humidity and sped off, dragging the body behind.
TO BE CONTINUED, soon hopefully
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Albert issakkar go l-iskola
I wrote this story while my students where writing a composition titled "Albert issakkar go l-iskola".
Albert kien fl-isbah holma. Kien ghaddej fuq ziemel abjad halib minn go nofs foresta imsahhra meta f’daqqa wahda hlejqa orribli mimlija suf tfaccat quddiemu u kellu jieqaf hesrem. Fethet halqha, u l-ghajta li ghajtet kienet familjari hafna ghal Albert, kienet qisha… L-IZVELJARIN!
Albert tar minn gos-sodda, gera ghal kamra tal-banju fejn hasel wiccu u f’kemm ili nghidlek kien libes l-uniformi u telaq b’girja lejn l-iskola. Dik il-holma kienet kidditu mhux ftit, tant, li x’hin pogga bilqieghda fuq is-siggu, fil-klassi induna li kien ghadu mejjet bin-naghas! Il-gurnata ghaddiet b’Albert jiggieled mieghu innifsu biex ma jorqodx! Fl-ahhar ftit minuti talab lill-ghalliema tieghu biex imur jahsel wiccu izda bin-naghas li kellu serrah rasu mal-hajt tat-tojlits u raqad raqda liema bhala!
Kien il-hoss ta’ bieb tqil jinstabat li qajmu, izda x’hin fetah ghajnejh ma rax id-dawl sabih tax-xemx ta’ Mejju, imma dalma tqila miksura biss mid-dawl dghajjef tal-qamar imdendel fis-sema. Tant kienet kbira l-hasda li ha Albert li ma felahx jiccaqlaq. Ma kellux idea x’ser jaqbad jaghmel. Kif gie ftit f’tieghu beda jdur u jaghqad ma’ l-iskola u jipprova jiftah kull bieb u tieqa li sab fis-sular ta isfel, izda kollu ta’ xejn. Madankollu x-xorti riedet li kif kien kwazi ser jaqta’ qalbu, gietu idea brillanti.
Mar gabar ponn zrar mil-grawd u waddbu b’kemm kellu sahha lejn it-tieqa ta’ Gerit, mara xiha u armla li kienet toqoghod bizwit l-iskola. Beda jittama li kienet ghada ma marridx torqod. Ghaddew hames minuti u l-imbierka Gerit kienet ghada ma tfaccatx fit-tieqa. Albert rega waddab ponn zrar iehor, din id-darba b’iktar sahha minn qabel. U b’xorti tajba, wara ftit instemghet ix-xwejha tgerger u tghajjat kontra dak il-minghul li kien qed jipprova jkissrilha it-tieqa.
Albert ma damx ma fehmha x’kien gralu, u f’radda ta’ salib kien hemm rigment puluzija wara l-bieb ta’ l-iskola flimkien ma’ ommu tibki u tixher u missieru b’par ghajnejn imberqin.
Ajma x’gurnata kera kienet dik ghal Albert. Zgur li ma kienx se jerga jorqod l-iskola issa. Mela! Biex ikollu jaghmel xi lejl maqful hemm gew mal-grieden u l-wirdien!
Albert kien fl-isbah holma. Kien ghaddej fuq ziemel abjad halib minn go nofs foresta imsahhra meta f’daqqa wahda hlejqa orribli mimlija suf tfaccat quddiemu u kellu jieqaf hesrem. Fethet halqha, u l-ghajta li ghajtet kienet familjari hafna ghal Albert, kienet qisha… L-IZVELJARIN!
Albert tar minn gos-sodda, gera ghal kamra tal-banju fejn hasel wiccu u f’kemm ili nghidlek kien libes l-uniformi u telaq b’girja lejn l-iskola. Dik il-holma kienet kidditu mhux ftit, tant, li x’hin pogga bilqieghda fuq is-siggu, fil-klassi induna li kien ghadu mejjet bin-naghas! Il-gurnata ghaddiet b’Albert jiggieled mieghu innifsu biex ma jorqodx! Fl-ahhar ftit minuti talab lill-ghalliema tieghu biex imur jahsel wiccu izda bin-naghas li kellu serrah rasu mal-hajt tat-tojlits u raqad raqda liema bhala!
Kien il-hoss ta’ bieb tqil jinstabat li qajmu, izda x’hin fetah ghajnejh ma rax id-dawl sabih tax-xemx ta’ Mejju, imma dalma tqila miksura biss mid-dawl dghajjef tal-qamar imdendel fis-sema. Tant kienet kbira l-hasda li ha Albert li ma felahx jiccaqlaq. Ma kellux idea x’ser jaqbad jaghmel. Kif gie ftit f’tieghu beda jdur u jaghqad ma’ l-iskola u jipprova jiftah kull bieb u tieqa li sab fis-sular ta isfel, izda kollu ta’ xejn. Madankollu x-xorti riedet li kif kien kwazi ser jaqta’ qalbu, gietu idea brillanti.
Mar gabar ponn zrar mil-grawd u waddbu b’kemm kellu sahha lejn it-tieqa ta’ Gerit, mara xiha u armla li kienet toqoghod bizwit l-iskola. Beda jittama li kienet ghada ma marridx torqod. Ghaddew hames minuti u l-imbierka Gerit kienet ghada ma tfaccatx fit-tieqa. Albert rega waddab ponn zrar iehor, din id-darba b’iktar sahha minn qabel. U b’xorti tajba, wara ftit instemghet ix-xwejha tgerger u tghajjat kontra dak il-minghul li kien qed jipprova jkissrilha it-tieqa.
Albert ma damx ma fehmha x’kien gralu, u f’radda ta’ salib kien hemm rigment puluzija wara l-bieb ta’ l-iskola flimkien ma’ ommu tibki u tixher u missieru b’par ghajnejn imberqin.
Ajma x’gurnata kera kienet dik ghal Albert. Zgur li ma kienx se jerga jorqod l-iskola issa. Mela! Biex ikollu jaghmel xi lejl maqful hemm gew mal-grieden u l-wirdien!
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