I want to be the airline worker behind the service counter. The one who helps those who have missed their flights. I want to be the one to take the distress, misery and the occasional tears away. I want to look into their eyes and say “it’s okay” I will take care of you. Let’s put you on the next flight and get you going. I want to upgrade old people to first class. They deserve it. They suffered more than us in this world. I want to exchange pleasantries while I tap my fingers on my keyboard and make magic happen. I want to see relief wash over their very being as I hand over the boarding pass & see them stand up straighter and try on a little smile. Yes, I would like that very much.

I have painted my nails latte color. Since I start playing guitar I try to keep them short. I have to. I find it very therapeutic. To spend an hour carefully painting my nails and then another hour to carefully take it off. It helps me think. I feel I want to own my nails the same way as I own my skin color. I want to keep them alive with paint color till I am breathing.

My friend choose a book from her library for me to read.she also choose a poem for me. Turn to page 37. The prophet. By Khalil Gibran. I read this book when I was in my teens. But reading this again now I understand why he is as loved and respected as he is. I finished the book within two hours. Because it is engaging, jaw dropping with its ideas and even better with the language. If every sentence in this book was heartlessly ripped away from the others and made to stand alone by Itself, it would still make sense. Not just any sense but sense of the profound kind. The kind that would make you read it once. Then read it again just to make sure you read it right. Then Smack yourself on the forehead for not having thoughts of this yourself. It’s the revelation of a lifetime. I don’t have the words to describe the book.