“Notting Hill, that’s the best movie ever. Superb!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me right kiddo, Notting Hill is my favorite movie. I’ve seen it more than any other movie.”
“You’re just taking the piss. You? Didn’t you beat the most foul-mouthed sailor at the Who Can Swear the Most competition? You’ve been continuously regaling us with stories of how as hard as nails you are. Now you’re confessing your heart pitter-patter at the sight of love-struck Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant in Notting Hill?”
“Yes, they looked incredible together. I like the part when he said, “ I live in Notting Hill. You live in Beverly Hills. Everyone in the world knows who you are. My mother has trouble remembering my name.” And she answered, “I’m also just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.” That scene was beautiful. …
“Grow a pair and tell her ASAP.” “I feel so guilty. She’s a good person, but I don’t think she’s the right one for me. I don’t want to hurt her.”
“So, your idea of not inflicting pain is traveling thousands of miles to meet her family after you’ve lost that lovin’ feeling?”
“I was miserable on that trip. She’s high maintenance. We’re not compatible.”
“But, you opted to prolong it and sent her flowers instead.”
“Well, she’s sweet and sent me birthday gifts after the troublesome trip.”
“Perhaps you still want to give it a chance?”
“Nah, I know myself, and she’s not who I think I’ll be happy with.”
“In that case, you’re leading her on. She would’ve appreciated it if you were honest from day one. Now, she’s in way too deep. …
Yes, I bent over and took it. I finally played for fortune at the Cali lottery. The jackpot prize? $447 million! Many people were queueing up when I got there at 7:45 am. The place opened at 10, and by then, hundreds of desperate folks like myself joined the line. We braved the frigid temperature with the delusion to snatch a piece of heaven. Did I snag millions? Predictably, I only flushed $20 down the drain. The gods of luck weren’t generous enough to grant me the pot of Benjamins from Mega Millions.
Upon knowing what I was up to, a sage-like pal of mine sent me this – “Desperate economic times shouldn’t deflect from your firm grasp of basic statistics and probability.” …
On the morning of January 01, 1980, I woke up freezing from the cold. I ran outside my barracks and got buried knee-deep in the white stuff on the ground. Barefoot, I got hit with a piercing cold I had never before experienced! “What’s happening? What’s this white thing falling from the sky?”
“You monkey, where are you from?” That was the reply.
“Well, definitely not from here.”
“That’s snow, enjoy!”
And I did; I tasted it, jumped around in it, and rubbed it all over my body. That was my first winter. That was my first snowy January in a land far away from home.
Fan of real-life experiences? Here’s one for you:
Do you work in the service industry, especially the restaurant and food services or the retail sector? Do you fit any of the three descriptions below? If you do, please do us all a favour. Quit your job.
A less than 5-foot guy seemed to be having the time of his life, clownishly dancing to a tune while handing out leaflets outside a shop at the mall. He was trying to give me one, which I politely declined. He aggressively insisted, but I nodded, tried to smile behind the mask, and waved my right hand to say no. He appeared as if he was going to shove one in my bag, so I walked away. …
You might want to read this to avoid the same mistakes I’ve made.
No, I haven’t finished editing all of them yet. It’s not because I have hundreds of stories here already, but still, I have a long way to go. I have gone through a few of the ones already published, and there have been notable mistakes I deem never to repeat.
So, without much ado. Here are the lessons I learned while re-reading and re-editing my old articles on Medium:
I was very stubborn and insisted on using photos I took using my old phone ages ago. They were low-grade, dull, and uninspiring. …
I was about 6, and my sister was 8 when my mama took us to a mining town to live. My stepfather was a miner, and my mama ran a small shop selling groceries, clothes, jewelry, and other knick-knacks to the other miners’ wives. I remember the village being bone-dry, a tiny community in the middle of nowhere where people spoke a funny-sounding language totally different from what I had first spoken. However, you quickly acquire the dialect when you’re at that age; you naturally become fluent in no time. …