When you experience fiery suffering and it seems like you have been ruthlessly flung into a seemingly bottomless darkly tormenting abyss, take a moment to pause and reset your roiling emotions.
Imagine an uncommonly peaceful lake with lush green grass on either bank of it.
Picture a towering and majestic mountain set against a breathtakingly beautiful backdrop of a gorgeously orange-golden sunset.
What an exquisitely and wondrously splendid sight, right?
Now, tenderly pack-up this beautiful sight and store it into one of the inner compartments of your mind.
Retrieve it whenever the gates of hell have been flung wide-open to visit such calamitous suffering upon your life.

The End.

I may never strut my stuff confidently on stage as part of some grand theatrical production which earns rave reviews.
But through my deeply-felt love of the written word, I have been generously afforded the chance to live vicariously through the adventures of many a character who have held me in thrall over the years.
Be it the CIA agent Jack Ryan and his daring espionage escapades or that utmost epitome of heroism, Ulysses and the epic trials and perils he must overcome to return home and be reunited with his patiently waiting, long-suffering wife, I have brilliantly outsmarted enemy operatives and gotten the better of hideously hulking, one-eyed giants named Cyclops among other praiseworthy feats.
So, the next time you're suffering a potent attack of stultifying boredom, try reading a book and soon you will be hooked.

The End.

The year was 1820.
The place: a sugar plantation field in Birmingham, Alabama.
One day on the said plantation field in 1820, an African slave, Kwame, all of a sudden decided that he had had enough.
He was through with addressing the white owner of the plantation field as ‘Master’.


He was done with tip-toeing around the white master’s children so reverentially as if they were demi-gods.
‘Demi-gods’! Why, they were more like spoiled little brats with truly despicable behavior.
Kwame had had it up to here with all of it.
So, on one Saturday afternoon, Kwame, upped and made a bold dash for freedom.
As he tried to run away with his heart pounding heavily in his chest, he heard the tell-tale sounds of horses’ hooves kicking up dust as the white master and his henchmen vigorously pursued him on horse-back.
Despite hearing the yells from the white master and his men calling on him to stop, on Kwame ran throwing caution to the winds.


But in the end something did stop Kwame.
Two gun-shots to his back and two others to his neck eventually felled him fatally.
The place: a sugar plantation field in Birmingham, Alabama.
The year: 1820.
The year when the courageous attempt of an African slave, Kwame, to find freedom tragically cost him his life.

The End.

Building – an interesting undertaking.
Breathtaking architectural creations like the Sydney Opera House or the enduringly magical Taj Mahal don’t just happen at the snap of one’s fingers.
Such wonders are meticulously wrought brick by brick, chunk by chunk and rung by rung until their glorious completed form.
Exhilarating and meaningful romantic entanglements don’t just happen on that oft first fumbling and awkward first date.
If there are sparks, these will need time and maturity to fly in full riotous glory.
Yes, building – an interesting, ages-old undertaking.

The END.

When you’re feeling forlorn and downcast, why don’t you set off for Happiness Lane to hang out there for a while.
And the thing is it is so stupendously easy to get there it positively beggars belief.
One need not use the flamboyant Google Maps to zero-in on the exact location of Happiness Lane.
It’s easy to find.
It is in the wonderfully radiant smile of a loved one as she looks at you.
It is in the fumbling yet magical strivings of a little child as he/she begins to walk for the very first time.
So, the next time you catch yourself moping around in gloom, why don’t you head off for Happiness Lane to just blissfully hang out there for a while.

In my darkest despair, you were the lone lamp of hope.
At the peak of my greatest triumphs, you were the one whom I most wanted to be proud of me.
Mere words cannot accurately describe just how much you have infinitely blessed my life since the genesis of my journey on this earth.
At various twists and turns, you have been my mentor, inspiration, close confidante, accomplice and steadfast defender among other numberless hats which you have donned through the years.
So, on this most auspicious and special of days for all mothers everywhere here’s toasting a ‘Happy Mother’s Day’, to you dearest mom.

The End.

They told him he wouldn't make it.
And yet, he pressed on determinedly and resolutely regardless.
They told him so heartlessly countless times that his long nursed dreams would fail to come true.
Despite that, he kept striding forward at times even with a tell-tale swagger in his step.
And then, one day despite all of the evil chatter, he finally achieved the at times elusive goal of success.
You may wonder who I'm speaking of.
I could be speaking of a whole lot of people.
I could be speaking of you.
I could also be speaking of me.

The End.

We all just get one shot at this thing called life.
When we are treated unfairly, let us continue striding forth with greater resolve and a deeper sense of purpose.
When our wings are clipped, let us take time out to tend to our wounds until they are healed.
And once we feel right as rain again, let us endeavor to boldly soar high and higher than ever before until we are at one with the eagle who from its ideal vantage point high above the earth surveys the dazzling variety of life below with an enviable glint of supreme self-assuredness in its eyes.
I wonder: were we all to approach the storms and valleys of our lives with that same swagger and braggadocio, would any obstacle really be too daunting to stand in our way?

The End

In my deepest despair, please be the voice of hope.
During the harshest and severest storms, please be my anchor upon whom I can lean.
And when I’m enveloped in all-consuming darkness and I can feel my last shreds of hope fading away, please be the light that shines so dazzlingly brightly it illuminates the way forward.

The End

As the fury rages and the bitterness begins to bite, remember there is a season for everything.
A season to cultivate dreams and a season when all hopes are cruelly dashed.
A season when fear reigns supreme and a season when grace supersedes every fear, every doubt, every hurt and every ember of fury still lurking within.
So, friend, don’t shrink back in fright at the dying light.
Time will surely come when you’ll be bathed in the all-enveloping and tenderly radiant glow of hope, freedom and renewal.

END

Pray, what oracle can accurately divine the marvels which await humankind in the age to come?
Will we step into cars that soar to lofty heights?
Will we grow accustomed to robots putting in long shifts as workers on the factory floor or as nurses tending to the needs of the afflicted in our hospitals?


And, will the age to come present humanity with the first-ever ‘designer baby’ by virtue of the miracle or curse of gene-editing, which many have likened to man playing God?
So, so many questions to which no conclusive answers have yet to be formed.
As we stand, then, on the very cusp of an unimaginably unprecedented, new age, let us endeavor to tread warily and cautiously lest we lose our footing.

The End

It is a dance, this life.
Those who are morbidly fearful of risks ceaselessly sit out their turns to hit the dance floor.
Then there are those fearless characters who too readily perhaps are unafraid to take the plunge.
Yes, they doubtlessly suffer cuts, bruises and scrapes along the way, some of which run painfully deep.
But, sometimes, pluckily taking the plunge to start a company or send in an application affords its own longed-for rewards too.
So, be bold, brave and when it’s your turn to dance, break a leg while you’re at it.

Life is like an elevator.
Sometimes, we soar upwards to undreamed of heady heights.
While at other distinctly cheerless moments, we plunge downwards to plumb unenviable, new depths of sorrow, misfortune and woe.
So have no fear when you are inhabiting the valleys of your life's journey.
For sooner rather than later, you will be able to mend your severed wings and boldly take flight again with supreme self-assuredness.

The End

The voice of the people IS the voice of justice.
When dastardly injustice is committed against the body politic of the state, the people survey the wreckage in the aftermath and then that miracle of social rejuvenation takes place: their righteous rage rises.
From that critical point on, in all manner of ways and means, they, the people, will bring those culpable for the grievous wound to account.
They, the people, will gather, protest, and organize in furious and wholehearted labors just so that those responsible pay dearly.
Salute the people, then: the true call to justice.

END.

Never let hope flee your heart.
For without hope, life is akin to a beautiful song without a melody.
Cling tightly and steadfastly onto hope.
For without it, life is like sterile soil that cannot yield rich fruit.
Remember, friend, without hope, life is like an idyllic and palatial mansion with no one to make it a home alive with life, chatter and laughter.

The End.