The Troll

The only thing the troll ever really wanted was to be a man. He hated being troll.

As he looked at his reflection in the pond, he hated being ugly - he wanted to be a handsome human. He hated how people hated looking at him. He wanted people to love looking at him as he passed down the street.

But he was a troll. And everyone knows that trolls are never handsome.

In spite of that, every creature in the forest loved the troll. He was good to them all. When the residents of the forest gathered to talk, the troll's name always came up with love. They always talked of the goodness in his heart. His parents have raised him up to be very special.

But the troll wanted to be handsome. The troll wanted to be a human.

As the troll walked through the forest one day, he crossed paths with the kingdom's prince.

"oh dear Lord! Go away you ugly monster," said the prince.

The prince of the kingdom was so handsome. Nobody hated looking at him. He was not like the troll.

The troll lowered his head in shame. It was true. He was ugly. He was a monster. He was nothing compared to the incredibly handsome prince.

The prince spat at him and left.

Only a minute later, a hutched witch came out from inbetween the trees. "What do you think of the prince, young troll?" said the old witch.

"He is so handsome. He is - he is human," mumbled the troll.

"What would you give me if I can make you look like the prince?"

The troll's eyes glittered. "I'd give you anything you ever want!" he exclaimed.

"Don't be so hasty, I might ask for that which you cannot give," said the witch. "But I will cut you a deal. I will turn you into the crown prince, everything about you will become him. All I ask in return is 1% of your kingdom. You have 60 days then you must give me the land."

Hastily, the troll agreed to the witch's deal. There was nothing to consider. The deal was too good to be true, it fulfilled every need the troll ever had in his life.

"The deal shall be written in blood young troll. Cut your finger and I'll cut mine. We will mix our bloods. If you ever go back on your promise, I will break the spell and you will become an uglier troll than you already are."

The troll used his claws to cut his little finger and dripped his blood to mix with the old witch's blood.

There was a bright flash of light. Sparks danced everywhere around the troll. The witch disappeared, the trees began to disappear and quickly the ground disappeared.

The troll woke up a few hours later. His legs felt weird. They were all wobbly as he stood up. He looked at his hands and gasped in shock. He had human hands. He had human arms. He quickly ran to the pond that he stared at a million times before but this time it was different. This time, the most handsome face looked back at him.

Unable to contain his happiness, the now-human troll ran to the castle. As he approached the doors the guards bowed and opened the door to him.

"I am the prince!" he exclaimed wildly.

It didn't take too long for the young troll to become the prince. He quickly fell into his new luxurious life. In less than a month he was acting exactly like the prince.

But the days went by, and he didn't keep count. He had all but forgotten his promise to the witch. However, on the 55th day of their deal, the witch showed up to him.

"How are you doing your highness?" she said.

"What brings you here you old hog! And how did you get past the guards?" replied the prince troll angrily.

"Relax" she said. "I can go anywhere I want. Walls and guards don't stop me. I come to remind you of our deal. In five days, if you don't give me 1% of your kingdom and fulfill your deal, you will become an uglier troll than you ever was!"

The prince panicked. He didn't want to go back. He wanted to remain prince!

"But I don't own the kingdom yet. The king - my father - is alive and he owns the kingdom."

"I have spoken, young prince. You have less than a week." Then she disappeared in a puff of smoke.

The prince tried in vain for the next four days to find ways to break the spell. Nobody knew how to break the witch's deal.

The prince sat in his bed on the fourth night. That was his last night as prince. He would do anything to fulfill his promise. He'd even give the witch half the kingdom - if only he owned it.

He quickly lifted his head. If I owned it - he thought.

The prince got up, crept through the corridors to his parent's room. He opened the door gently. He looked down at the king and queen, sleeping peacefully. They have been very good to him ever since he became the prince.

Without a second thought, he pulled out his hunting knife and stubbed the sleeping king and queen. The yelped for help, but no one heard them.

He ran out into the corridor and out through the main gates. He ran into the dark night and the falling rain.

"I am ready to fulfill my debt you wicked witch!" shouted the prince into the night.

The witch limped out from between the trees. "So you are king now? Can I have my 1% of the kingdom?"

"Take it and leave this place and never come to my kingdom again."

"I will young king. You will never see me again. But I do want to ask you something before I leave. You have done all this to escape being a monster.

Who's the monster now? The troll in you, or the prince in you?"

Death

Someone once told me that death is the biggest reality of life. Although this statement had all the hallmarks of depth and wisdom, I don’t agree.

I have several problems with that statement actually.

To begin with, death is not really a reality. A reality is something that has a definite, quantitative value. Yet death is far from that. We view death as the end of life, but there is much we ignore if we stick to this narrow view.

For starters, there are many people who are very much alive physically yet dead emotionally or spiritually. Do you call them alive or dead? Have you ever heard someone say they feel "dead inside"? How do you qualify those?

Then there is the fact that death sometimes heralds the start of things. Where one story ends, another story begins. As a man dies somewhere in the world, the cries of a newborn will ring somewhere else. Sometimes the death of a loved one can shock relatives who have never talked – or people who hated each other – into giving their relationships another chance. Is this death – or is it life?

The second problem I have is the fact that – for some weird reason – we always associate death with life. How can death be the biggest reality of life when the truth is, it is a way of making life cease to have any meaning to most people.

Death is just death. It cannot be quantified but neither can it be seen in relation to life. The biggest reality in life is life itself. The moment of death is irrelevant. It only matters what we did in the years of life we had before death stepped in the picture. It only matters if we made the best of life.

Death is a fleeting moment. A vivid vision that quickly fades away. But life lives on forever. It is the lives of great people that are remembered, not their deaths. That is their greatest reality. Beethoven created some of the best classic music in history even though he was nearly deaf. That is his life – that is his reality.

Shakespeare was the biggest playwright the world has ever seen. The plays that he wrote are his biggest reality as they play out every day all over the world. His death is insignificant. A fleeting moment.

And it was Shakespeare who, in understanding this reality, wrote the best description of death ever conceived. In the final chapter of his play Julius Caesar, he explains it in the simplest of manners – yet the most descriptive of manners.

He simply says "And he died."

That's it.

No splendor, no glory.

The most beautiful description of death ever wrote.

I have realized

I have realized I'm strongest when I admit I'm weak
I have realized I'm a winner when I accept defeat
I have realized I'm happiest when not afraid to weep
I have realized I can fly when I let go off my feet

I have realized its invigorating when I let go
I have realized that love can be reborn
I have realized its cruel to scorn a broken heart
I have realized that acceptance can heal my soul

I have realized that existing is different from living
I have realized that perishing is different from dying
I have realized that death is just the start of the road
I have realized the road is just the start of death

I have realized that blood gives life, but gold does not
I have realized that the sky is endless, but pearls are not
I have realized that I'm richer when I let go of what I got
I have realized I'm more when I refuse that others are less

I have realized that time is an illusion that never exists
I have realized its a circle - and a circle has no end
I have realized that its my innocence that I most miss
I have realized that in pursuing, there is much I missed

And that was the sea

It was morning and the sun shone with a vengeance down on me. But that didn't deter me from going out. I put on my sneakers, favorite t-shirt and went out walking.

Lost in my thought, a distinct smell crept up my nose. It was the sea. For a person who does not live in a seaside city or town, I love the sea too much. My feet took me there, for there was no other place I was meant to be.

As the fine sand of the beach found its way into my sneakers, I could hear children laugh. They were running around the beach, a couple throwing a ball, while another was building castles in the sand. Many were wading in the sea, splashing water on each other, dodging waves and giggling as the water hit their faces.

It was happiness and good times. It was fun in the sun.

And that was the sea.

Sweating after my walk in the dazzling sun, I took off my clothes and took off my sneakers. I loved the feeling of the sand under my feet as I walked towards the sea. The cold water tickled my toes as the waves broke on the beach and in a minute, I was neck deep in the sea. The water was crystal clear and I could see schools of fish jotting around.

Invigorating. Rejuvenating. It was like being reborn.

And that was the sea.

Then the beach faded. And the shoreline disappeared. I was on a ship. The ship sailed gracefully through the calm waters. All around me were people with mixed emotions. The ship was loaded with dreams and fears. Loaded with hopes and broken hearts. But most importantly, it was far from the shoreline. It was in the middle of the sea. All there was now was the sea. It was the source of all the mixed emotions. It was home to the dreams of a wonderful life for the newly-wed, but it was also home to the broken heart of the lady leaving her family behind.

And that was the sea.

Then a storm stole over us. Suddenly, the clear blue sky was gone, and so was the tranquil slow rocking of the ship as it gleefully cut through the sea. The storm raged, and the sea was angry. Senseless anger, the kind that swallows everything up. Suddenly all emotions disappeared. There was only the anger - and the fear it spurns in the hearts of people.

The sea raged in anger. It was senseless, it was unequivocal. What did the storm do to anger the sea so badly? There was no logic in the anger. It was just an intense flood of emotion that wrapped itself around everyone, and put everyone at risk. No one was safe of the sea's fury. The ship tossed and turned like a leaf in the autumn winds. Salty water splashed my face and burned my eyes and nostrils. Even the creatures living in the sea, those that love the sea, were hurt by the anger. It was gloomy under the darkened sky and the sea was dark and murky. For everyone who tasted the sea's temper, there was fear of perishing in it.

And that was the sea.

Then the storm passed, and as quickly as it came, the anger faded away. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. The sea was full of love for all living things again. It became extra calm to make up for the storm. It took care to spur gentle winds to help the ship reach its aim. The dark, foreboding waters gave way to clear turquoise waters again. The dolphins and fish jumped happily as they were treated to extra food by the sea. Suddenly the ship was close to shore again and the sea was dotted with fishermen boats. The fishermen pulled in nets full of fish. The extra calm meant extra fish. Extra fish meant extra money.

The sea was giving. The sea was kind.

And that was the sea.

And I stood on the shore and looked out at the sea. It was a million things at the same time. And it reminded me of someone.

The sea was special. The sea was me.

Children Fairies

A child should never - under any conditions - be subjected to deliberate pain.

Pain is inevitable. Every child will bruise their legs or cut their hands while playing. When I was a little boy I have probably fallen over 17 trillion times while playing in the garden or with friends or something. Every wound has healed over the years with very few leaving scars that remind me now of great times. But deliberate pain never heals - even when its scars do. And it does not hold good memories at all.

By their nature, children are innocent and pure. They may be mischievous, but are not evil. They may be annoying, but are not bad. They are just taking their time to explore the vast world they are brought in at their own rate and their own way.

This is their nature, this is the way they are. That is the beauty of a child.

Now think of a child as a fairy. Imagine that every single little boy and girl are all fairies with beautiful fragile golden wings. Their wings take them places. They see things and learn things and evolve in their own ways. They are not held down by gravity like grown-ups. They have wings to take them further up.

The wings take them places grown-ups don't even understand. After all, how can one understand what they do not know is there?

And the little children keep flying higher and higher. There is no limit to where they can go. They never get tired. The more their wings flap., the more their imagination fuels them on. The higher they fly, the more they see and learn...and the more grown-ups will not understand them.

But then, humans are not known for dealing well with things they don't understand. Our history speaks of it. We destroy what we don't' understand with no remorse.

Failing to understand the children, some parents think their kids are 'bad' or 'undisciplined'. To solve the problem, parents can go to insane extremes. The truth of the matter, they just don't understand their kids. Discipline was never meant to hold people back. Children are not meant to be disciplined 24 hours a day. If they did, they would never fly too far up - they would never know their true potential.

To enforce discipline, some parents resort to pain. They beat their children up to 'force some discipline into them'. The problem is that the children's little fairy wings are very very fragile. Slowly they tear and break.

Pretty soon, the children are trying to fly up into their own world but their wings just can't carry them anymore. They flap as hard as they can, but they just don't rise from the ground. They are becoming more and more like adults. There is one major problem though. Most adults manage to bring things back from their flights during their childhoods. But these children never got the chance to bring anything back. They grow up never knowing how to fly.

As their wings stop flapping, their imagination starts to fail. Slowly, their light starts to wane till it finally dies away.

A child should never - under any conditions - be subjected to deliberate pain. Period.

Perspectives

Reality is the most over-rated illusion there ever was.

I don't know what people mean when they say something "is real." It always bugged me. How do you define 'real'? Is it something you see and hear and feel? But the senses are different from one person to the other. Is it something who's nature people can agree about? There never was something that everyone could agree about. So what is 'real'?

The truth is I don't believe in reality. It does not exist. Reality to each of us is how each of us conceives the world around them. In essence, when we speak of reality we are actually talking about perspectives. I believe in perspectives, we each have our own different perspectives on things.

Take for example food. To my reality, eggs taste better than anything else. To one of the closest people in the world to me, eggs smell and taste worse than most things in the world. That is a difference of perspectives. A difference of how we both relate to the egg. We both have our different sets of reality.

This extends to how we relate to our environments as well. I see rain and it makes me happy, I run down the stairs and take a walk in the rain and enjoy getting wet. I enjoy the twinkling drops of water left on leaves and the washed look of the streets. To another person, the rain is a source of gloom. It forced them to cancel a beautiful picnic out in the park in the beautiful afternoon sun.

I loved the rain. They hated the rain. But the rain is not different, it's our perspectives that are.

Making a memory

Memories are peculiar on so many levels. No one understands why some memories last a few seconds while others last a lifetime. Why is it that I forgot most people I met this year while I remember childhood friends that I haven't seen in over 15 years?

For so many years, I have strove to meet new people. Usually I drift into their lives, affect them in several ways, and then drift out again - forgotten. I don't mind it. I'm used to it and I do believe that in part, this is my role in life. I just hope that the effects I leave on their lives are mostly positive. Thus, even when I'm forgotten, a part of me lives on.

But sometimes I don't want to be forgotten. I want to create a memory with someone. I want to live in their minds for a lifetime - even after I'm long gone. Memories are still peculiar, but I have realized that they mostly live in first times. The first times of everything are always the time when memories are created. The first time you ran away from school - you'll remember who jumped the fence with you. The first time you have a crash on someone - you'll always remember who they were for the rest of your life.

I have tried to make memories with every meaningful person who has entered my life. This could be the smallest thing to the biggest thing. It doesn't matter how serious or ridiculous it is, memories of first-times are always the strongest.

This way I'm sure that even when I disappear from their lives, there will always be things that will remind them of me. This has been so important to me because these people are so important to me.

Do you share any first-time memories with me? :)

Endings and beginnings

It is funny how things end and others begin. Sometimes endings are really good. When bad things end, good things are usually beginning. That is the way hope survives among humans. And hope is the only reason humans survive on a day-to-day basis.

It is unclear, however, what happens when something good ends. Sometimes things in life don't make sense. How can you make sense of ending something good? Why would you do it? It is usually for the hope of starting something better - but what if you are unsure of what the new thing would be like?

How many times did you leave a job for "something better" only to be faced by bitter disappointment?

And what about the "perfect thing"? Why would you end it if you have the perfect thing? Where do you move on from perfect? You hope for something better, but does that even make sense?

Endings are such a special time for everything. It is at the ending that things usually make most sense and you finally are able to appreciate that thing - or look at it bitterly if it was bad - and judge it for its true value. Every load and lie is stripped off at the ending and we are only left with the bare truth.

Beginnings are also special because it is there that you are most excited. Every beginning is exciting - even beginnings of bad things. It is the time when we, as humans, are re-energized to continue with life. Beginnings are essential for humans to keep moving through life meaningfully. Once something drags on for too long, we lose interest, and that is when we actually start losing that thing. That is the signal for the need for an ending.

This extends to every situation, even life itself. The birth of a child is always so exciting. It is energizing. It is the time of dreams and plans. The world is your oyster now. And then life starts to drag on and eventually, in death, people start to look at how that person lived their lives. They are then either appreciated - or despised.

Everything - no matter how good - must be laid to rest. It is only my dream that it gives birth to something better...and maybe that a little of the perfection drags on into the new thing.

The perfect dream

I have said many times before that I am a dreamer. I dream of things that make me happy. But today I chose to dream up a world.

Bear with me as I take you into the world I created. The world as it was always meant to be. The perfect world.

In my world, humans are beautiful creatures. They are creatures made of love. Love for nature, love for life, love for each other. In my dreams humans do not form clans and groups. Humans don't go to extremes to try to find things to differentiate between each other.

My dream, after all, is made of complete love. Love is blind, and that is practically the beauty of my dream world.

In m dream, your color doesn't make a difference. It really doesn't make a difference, not the crappy lie that the real world is living right now. Black, white, brown, yellow, there is beauty in all. And inside the skin, there really is no difference at all. The souls all look the same. The souls don't recognize the skin color, only we do.

In the world I created, there are no boundaries between countries. We are all one. We are all of Earth. We don't need to differentiate by calling someone an American and another a Bangladeshi. Strip everything away and you have two identical people, each struggling to make it through life in their own way and with their own dreams.

In my dream, parents are not instilling racist sentiments into their little kids. White parents are not freaking out when they see their child playing ball with a black kid. Rich people are not screaming at their children because they made friends with the doorman's child.

In my dream, people are not fighting over religion. They are finally able to understand that they have 90% in common. They finally realize they can't stay fixated on the 10% they don't agree on and they are able to endorse the beauty of all religions combined. Muslims, Christians and Jews are able to hang out and talk and laugh. There is no hate amongst them for my world was built on love.

Out of love there is no need to kill and hurt. There is no reason to scare your fellow human. In my world, everyone realizes that each human is so precious. Each human, no matter how 'different' is as important as the whole world. People care for each other. People help each other and take the time to carry their weak through instead of leaving them behind.

We really are not so different. The only problem is we go to extents in order to differentiate between each other. It's funny, of all the species on Earth, this is an exclusive characteristic of humans. Every other species is trying to find ways to band together in order to be stronger. But with humans, they are always searching for ways to differentiate. Think about everything that is happening and you'll realize that everyday we come up with new ways of labeling each other, of forming clans, in order to be differentiated further.

Every time we abolish one type of racism, we create two. It is sad.

In my perfect world, there are no differences at all. No blacks, no whites, no territories, no countries, no different beliefs. There is only humanity, love, dignity and respect for each other.

This is my dream world. As fake as can be - as real as can be.

If it's crazy to dream, then I will adore my lost mentality forever.

Welcome to my type of world.

People on the street

The streets are crowded. There are so many people coming and going.

In a typical day I travel to work, hang out there for several hours, then go back home.

In a typical day such as that one, I usually meet anything from 100-600 people I guess. The greatest bulk of those are complete strangers. Chances are most of them are people I will never meet again, and if I do, I won't even recognize them.

Yet it's amazing what simple moments can teach us. I believe that every encounter means something - that in every encounter with another human being there is something to be learned. There's a way to evolve.

The only problem is that we are sometimes too preoccupied with ourselves to notice the lessons.

Sometimes we are too arrogant to notice the lessons.

Whatever the reason, often these critical lessons of life are missed. And that is just sad.

I have learned the majority of what I know about life from observing other people. I have learned from everyone and I hope I can continue to do that. The highest - and lowest - person in the world has the potential of changing us.

Through accepting that, I have found joy in looking at people as I walk or drive down the street. I'm thrilled to see what people are doing when I'm waiting for the train. Every smile, laugh or snarl is a look into the human soul.

As every person holds a piece of the jigsaw, every time I learn something I'm one step closer to completing the puzzle. The puzzle of life. The one thing I'll always strive for.

What I have learned is to never underestimate what others can teach us casually. Everything happens for a reason, no matter how random and insignificant it seems at times.

I'll always remember coming out in a foreign street in a foreign country and meeting someone who would later change my life in many ways. Had I missed the signs then I would've missed some of the most beautiful things in life.

Clouds

When I was very young, I thought that clouds were cotton candy.

That was a lot of cotton candy, enough to satisfy every single hyperactive kid in the world. No one was eating it though which meant that I could have quite a lot of it! I used to devise all manners of ingenious ways of reaching the clouds.

Later on as I grew up, I was taught that clouds are just water vapor. That came as a huge disappointment to me. It made more sense that they were made of cotton candy. They look more like cotton candy than water vapor to me. They were more exciting as cotton candy than water vapor to me.

Every time I’m on a plane, and as we pass above the clouds, I look down and I think how much the clouds still look like cotton candy. Then I remember what I was taught in school and I’m all disappointed again.

As I was on a plane going to South Africa, I looked at the clouds and I thought they don’t look like cotton candy today. The clouds were really dense together. They looked more like powdered sugar that went humid. You know how it starts forming irregular patches? That is exactly what it looked like to me.

Then I realized it was water vapor. What a let down!

Why is it that no matter how much time passes by, the first thing that comes to mind when I look at clouds is just not water vapor. The extremely scientific background I have should actually make it easier for me to see the water vapor rather than cotton candy.

I guess some things from our childhood never die away no matter what. But I also wonder, do I even want to lose those childhood ‘fantasies’? If I look at the clouds and see water vapor, then they would be so boring.

I always look at the clouds. I actually love seeing the clouds and their shapes. I know that there are people who don’t even notice the clouds. Maybe, because the clouds became so mundane when they accepted their nature, those people just lost interest in them.

I can’t imagine losing interest in the clouds!

I could list all the things that still stick to me from my childhood, but I’m afraid I would sound ridiculous :)


What childhood beliefs have stuck along into your adult lives? Lets see how ridiculous it can get! :)

Angels

There are angels on Earth.

It may be rather rare, but sometimes we may run into them. Not the wingy type of angels, more like human angels. They are every bit human, alive and mortal, but they have something extra. They have a saving grace.

I met an angel a few weeks ago. I didn't know it then but later I realized that she is one. She doesn't realize she's an angel, they never do. Even when they are told they are angels, they don't really understand/believe it.

"I don't really know how to be angry at someone. It is not that I forgive easily, I really don't know how to be mad at someone in the first place"

Her words rang in my ear for days and days like I just heard them an hour ago. She is of the purest heart. She was not pretending, she was not trying to impress. She was sincere in ways I have forgotten throughout my life. She is not capable of hurting anyone. She is not even capable of acknowledging when someone hurts her. For that, angels suffer the brutality of humanity more than others. People tend to abuse those who they think are weak. But angels are not weak, they are very strong. It is just their nature that makes them this way. It is their choice.

But this is not all that makes them angels. What really makes them angels is their aura. They have an aura of goodness that surrounds them all the time. People rarely see it. It's not physical, and humans are so attuned to only acknowledging what's physical. But the aura is there and it is so strong. When I met that angel, I knew there was something special. I could not see the aura but I felt it - and I felt it every strongly.

Their goodness aura brings out the best in people. No matter how horrible we are, there is always at least a grain of goodness in us. In the presence of an angel, that grain of goodness will come to the top. In a way, their presence makes us better people, better partners, better co-workers and better businessmen.

Ironically, it is that same goodness aura that makes them burn out early. It is so cruel, but it is the truth. And when one of them burns out, they are left an empty shell struggling to find their place in a life that they can't recognize. A life they are too pure for.

I am so happy to have met that angel. For I need someone to bring out the little good in me every now and then.

If she burns out, it would truly break my heart. For I know what she is better than everyone else.

I'm so grateful to have her as my friend.

The Storyteller

It was hard to walk against the wind. The sands of the desert flew against my face and hurt my eyes.

The sun glazed down with a vengeance. I walked on - determined and motivated by what I did not know. I had to fight against the forces of nature which teamed up against me.

Suddenly he was standing there. He was an unimpressive sight. In another time and place he would have merely been a face among the crowd.

"Why have you come?" he said as he looked me in the eyes. As he did so, his eyes bore into my soul.

All the forces of nature that I had been fighting against suddenly stopped. They too were listening intently to know the answer to the man's question.

I spoke of my quest for knowledge. There is so much to know and learn. I had come in search of the storyteller, and I had found him. I wondered if I deserved to hear what he had to say.

"Tell me of the worlds that died away"

"No world has every died"

"But no one knows of them but you now"

"That is why I'm the storyteller. I'm the keeper of tales. The worlds live inside of me."

"Will you speak to me of them then?"

"The question is not whether I would speak of them. The question is whether you would hear of them."

And he spoke. It was a one-man audience, but there were millions of listeners. The wind dropped to a breeze that surrounded us. The sands rose to hear the words of the storyteller. The clouds drew closer, keen to learn. And he spoke. And his words became magic.

He spoke of kings and castles, of wars and love. He spoke of dragons with wings that covered the lands when they spread. He spoke of angels and demons, of death and rebirth, of magic and fairies. His words created worlds of sea pirates and space travelers.

And as he spoke, the magic began to materialize. I was not hearing anymore. Slowly my world was stripped away and I was taken to a million worlds with the storyteller. I was a king and peddler. I was a god amongst the pagan gods. And he kept talking, and his words stripped my reality and built his stories. I was the hero of every story and I was the least important character of each story. I was a sea pirate and a space traveler.

And slowly the worlds started to disappear and I was in the desert again. In front of me stood an old man. On any other day he would have merely been a face among the crowd. But he was not.

He was the storyteller. He was the creator of worlds.

As he looked at me, he smiled. Not another word was uttered. They were not needed. Everything that needed to be said had already been said. Everything that needed to be learned had been taught.

Words were the weakest mode of communication.

The winds sighed in satisfaction. The sands settled in peace. All nature has shared in the experience of the storyteller.

I understood the storyteller's smile. He was happy. His worlds now lived inside of me. He has been immortalized. Yet he was also satisfied. My worlds now lived inside of him as well. I have been immortalized.

I had never grown up. I refused to let go. I had chosen to remain a little boy inside forever.

So has the storyteller.

Global citizen

I learned something new today. I learned that every time I travel somewhere, a part of that place is imprinted into my soul. Somehow, I become that place. I keep it inside of me forever and even though I will never have a passport for it, I become a citizen – in my own way.

If my life remains the way it has been so far, and I'm certainly hoping that it does, then I might one day become a global citizen. I'd belong everywhere. Now this may sound nice when you say it out loud, it might sound like the solution to all of Mankind's problems. But I believe that it comes with its share of problems.

Once you become a global citizen, you lose 90% of your link to your original citizenship. You don't feel part of it anymore. A global citizen has assimilated so many different cultures that they just lose their original. I met a global citizen the past 2 days, she has confirmed this exactly as I always thought.

I don't know if that will be good for me or not. All I know is that I am on an incredible journey of discovery. I have always strived on discovery, even when I didn't know it. Learning about everything and everywhere is all I ever really care about doing in my life. Good or bad, I can't wait to be a global citizen.

I have just assimilated a new culture. Every success and every failure – it's all inside of me. It didn't take too long either. Three days in Amman, Jordan, were enough for that. I have walked streets that residents never did. I believe there's no better way to know a city or town than walking its streets. I loved the mysterious Arabian atmosphere of the place. It has its very own and distinct aura.

Built on hillsides, the city is a maze of narrow streets going steeply up or down. It's like an old medieval city – even though it's not that old. Some friends drove me up a high hill and I looked down and it was one of the most fantastic things I have ever seen. Spreading down in front of me in the valley and all the way up on the side of the hill opposite the one I was standing on lay Amman. My only regret is that I did not have my camera on me at that time. However, that was a missed chance to capture this beauty for other people's eyes. But it will live in my eyes forever.

I think many people will not enjoy Amman. But absolutely loved it. It depends really on what you are looking for. If you go out looking for something fancy, you'll hate Amman and you'll love a place like Dubai and everything it stands for. If you are like me, however, out to see something special, to see a culture, then Amman is the place for you. I hate Dubai. I think it's a generic, cold, lifeless city. But Amman is the ideal Arabic city vibrant with architecture and a life that is local to this area of the world. A very very wonderful person I met there took me to a cafe called "Old View". The cafe, located on a hilltop, overlooks the old segment of the city. We went there at sunset. The old city lay on the hillside, with old beautiful mosques dotted between the homes and the old citadel (or what remains of it) standing at the top of one of the hills. This is what I traveled here to see. This is what Dubai will never be.

The people who live here have got to be the friendliest people in the world. Everyone I met has been extremely nice and welcoming to me. It was beautiful! I came here with no friends and I'm leaving with many people that I hold very dear in my heart. The variations of friends I made is also something that always bring a smile to my face. From the clubbing wild group to the kind intelligent girl. From the Jordanian to people from a dozen different countries. My trip had it all, and I shared something with all.

I would love to come back to this place. There are secrets hidden beneath the sands, things waiting to be learned. I have so much more to absorb out of it and I can't wait to do it. But meanwhile, there are other cultures waiting for me.

'Is life really bad?'

"Is life really bad?"

"Yes I think life is bad. Why are you asking?"

"Because everyone tells me it is bad - for once I wish someone would tell me otherwise"

And then there were tears in her eyes.

Ever since I had this conversation, I can't stop thinking about her words. The question came so suddenly. We were just driving in the car and listening to good music. It was such a desperate search that I could practically smell despair in the question.

In the darkest night, she was just looking for something keep her alive – to keep her sane. She was grasping desperately for a reason to live. Once you believe with your body and soul that life is horrible, then I don't see a single reason to live it. By that I don't mean suicide, but there are many people alive but not living. They become like zombies.

She turned to me to find that reason for life. When she turned to me, I killed her with my words. Harsh words, but they are all I knew. They were all I felt. I was desperate too.

I think that a lot of how we see the world really falls down to how others perceive the world. And that is what I learned today.

Just by learning that, I realize I've destroyed the lives of many many people who believed in me and my views of the world. When I gave up, I caused many others to give up. The failure just multiplied. And maybe when I gave up, it was due to someone else giving up. And it can continue to no end.

I find it very scary to know that I may wield that kind of power. And if it is so, then how can I give up without selfishly causing someone else to give up too?

It's similar to the butterfly effect.

As I was walking down the road thinking about all this, I passed by a garbage collector. The old man looked at me with kind eyes. It felt like he could read into me somehow – yet we've never met before. I smiled at him as I passed by and suddenly I stopped.

"How are you doing today," I asked him.

"I'm thankful to God. Life is good and I'm just fine," came the unexpected reply with an unexpected smile.

But life was not good for the old man. I knew it. I could see it. He was struggling through life in the most severe of ways. But he wasn't lying either. That was how he perceived the world. That could very well be the result of someone who showed the old man that life was not bad. Someone who has given him hope. While he was barely surviving, he was alive.

He was lucky he didn't know me. Maybe I would have done to him what I did to her.

I remain confused on how to solve the dilemma. If I have lost hope, if I have given up, how can I make sure I don't pass this along to others?