Farthing Downs and Happy Valley – 27.03.2026

39,000 steps/17.31 miles (equivalent to 66.6 circuits of a soccer pitch)

Birds seen: parakeets, crows, possibly a raven, blue tits, pigeons, goldfinch, starlings

Highlights

The Flint Game

Strewn about all over this area, there were pieces of flint. We are hypothesising that the area might have been a major hub for prehistoric man. We were talking about the craftsmanship required to make the flints into weapons and then, suddenly, I had the idea that we should each of us have a go at doing it.

So my friend and I picked up two pieces of flint, one piece smaller and one piece larger and we placed the smaller piece onto a piece of flint that was embedded in the ground. Then, we struck at the corners and edges of the smaller piece of flint with the bigger. Unlike in cinema, there were no sparks. We were both wearing our glasses as eye protection. My friend went first and he struck out a piece quite quickly. I put it into my pocket and felt it. It was incredibly sharp. I did my piece next. It took a few goes to get going as I wasn’t firmly onto the embedded flint bed but then a satisfying sharp tooth came off. We had both reconnected with our prehistoric past. I kept both the pieces and now they are on my bookshelf in my bedroom. A reminder of what? Our ancestry? The trip? Friendship?

The Chaldon Doom Painting

After getting slightly lost, we entered Chaldon Church which was a pretty construction to do the art part of our walk. We were going to see the Chaldon Doom painting. This had been created by a monk that fancied himself as an artist and was about the sins, a bit like Hieronymous Bosch’s masterpiece, ‘The Garden of Earthly Delights’.

As we entered, we came across two friends, R. and A. One was a young woman with dyed blonde hair who was the very picture of silence. The other was a stout man with black hair that chatted to us amiably about the mural because he was a local. His first words to me was that we are all a part of god so that we are all gods, a statement fit for a church. He had watched a video on YouTube about it and chatted to my friend about what he knew while I studiously read the labelled diagram of the mural and read the extended curator label about it.

The mural was reddish and quite ugly, although interesting to look at at the same time. The church was not particularly impressive but it was a novel experience to go to look at art and actually find a stranger that you could talk to about it. It never happens in London.

The View from Farthing Down

At the top of Farthing Down, there was this stone compass which pointed out all of the things on the wonderful view that you could get from this vantage point. We were looking at the mast for Crystal Palace, at Canary Wharf and also trying to see what else we could get our eyes onto. After you struggle up a hill, the view is the reward. And the rest and the sense of accomplishment that goes with it.

The Hive Garden in Coulsdon South Library

Noticing that there was a library around when we got into Coulsdon South, we decided to go in and check out the Ordinance Survey maps for our walk. Then, when we circled back to it to get on track onto our walk and were walking past, I noticed a charming little garden to its side. It was a delightful little construction, with little statuettes of fairies strewn about for the children. There was a wonderful yellow bench and it was wondderfully organised. Such a pleasant place for reading in the summer. We only spent a few minutes there but it was a lovely experience.

The Beauty of the Woods

We walked past decaying logs overlaid with green, green moss, past Yew trees and also delightful looking fungal growths on the ground. It was much warmer in the woods than in the outside world and also there was no rain like there was in the exposed elements. It was the usual but always relaxing and soothing immersion in nature. The birdsong was particularly beautiful, incredibly loud too. Like a concert that nature had put on for us specially.

Coffee in the morning

When we were drinking in Caffe Nero, we had a conversation with the Irish barrista. It turned out that the owner of the cafe was actually a Londoner and that he had only gone to Milan for university.

The Museum in the Pub

When we stopped for a drink at about two o’clock, the table where we sat in the pub had a framed document from the king at the end of the war, thanking the schoolchildren for their share in the hardship and struggles of the war. It told the children that they were worthy members of the sacrifices and the grit of the nation. This was an insight into that momentous time and the lives of the schoolchildren who lived then.

the attempt to make life beautiful

22.03.2026

A: You are always telling me that you are trying to make life beautiful.

S: I do make life beautiful. Today, I had a wonderful day.

A: Why?

S: I work at the most beautiful places in the world, the most fascinating, the most interesting. However, I will not talk about work. I will talk about what I did outside of work.

A: What did you do?

S: In the first break in the morning, I shopped at the local Oxfam Charity Bookshop. I bought several books, including those on typography, writings from women travellers and also an exquisite little tome on gardens.

A: Then, at lunch?

S: I went down to the National Maritime Museum and went through the Astronomy Photographer of the Year exhibition. I had a wonderful time immersed in space, nebulae and the planets. I was travelling there. I saw a beautiful video about a couple that went on an adventure to photograph the Northern Lights, such a nice and kind woman, such an aid to the photographer. It was heartwarming.

A: The next thing?

S: Another break and this time I went aboard The Cutty Sark to gaze at the views around me on a boat. Followed by a cheap snack at Macdonald’s.

A: Then after work?

S: A visit to Canary Wharf to look over the buildings and the waterfront. Then a shopping expedition to Marks and Spencer’s where I picked up some wonderful dessert and tomorrow’s lunch, Thai Red Curry and Sweet and Sour Chicken. I then ambled about in the park at Canary Wharf where I sat amidst the cherry blossoms and camelias, having a conversation on the phone with my girlfriend.

A: Then when you got home?

S: I had a feast for dinner. It was chicken and spinach curry with freshly prepared chapattis. The salad was wonderful: tomatoes, cucumbers, lettuce of two descriptions, red onions and a special favourite – mooli (parsnips) with garam masala. This was also washed down with 100% lychee juice and a glass of water. For dessert, I had an M & S trifle of peach, pears and pineapple.

A: To end the night?

S: Duty, my friend. There is always duty. I sat with my mother while she watched a video of an Indian wedding for a few minutes. Then, I wrote a newspaper article for the charity that I work on, a newspaper article about Punjab, the home of my people. While listening to world music instrumentals on Spotify.

A: You pack in a lot.

S: My energy and my curiosity, my greed for life, all of these are boundless. I want to live a full life and I do. It is the life I dreamed of. The life of an intellectual, the life of a lover, the life of an artist.

A: To finish the night?

S: The girlfriend again. A hot shower. Perhaps some reading. This mind needs fuel and love.

the flattery of the echo

17.03.2026

S: Recently, someone used the exact phrase that I used to describe something in a private communication when they were making a more public announcement.

A: Out of all the private messages that she got, she used your words?

S: Yes, my praise must have pleased her.

A: So she echoed you?

S: It was the flattery of the echo.

A: Analysis?

S: It could be a number of things. First of all, I am a writer. She might have thought it was the phrase that was the most apt. Perhaps when she was going ahead to write something that was semi-public to the small group, she wanted to model herself on a writer.

A: Perhaps.

S: But you also have to remember the relationship. She knew that I would know that she had echoed my phrase. After all, I wrote it. She was communicating to me that she was echoing my phrase.

A: For what reason?

S: Mirroring is a form of sociability, so is echoing. She was establishing a community between me and herself in the semi-public realm of this small group as she wrote to everyone. A community based on a written message.

A: Any other speculations?

S: There is a suggestion of emotion. I talked about my emotions in this phrase, about how I enjoyed something and how I would remember it. And she herself must have mirrored my emotions, enjoying my praise and remembering it.

A: You are a striking man. Some people are impressed by you.

S: That is exactly the right word, ‘impress’. Because I stamped myself onto her. Change in the world is driven by our influence on others and I can shape those around me.

A: Enough of this ego. Let’s get on with life.

S: Yes. I have a big assignment due in for university. There is never any time for anything but study and work. And yet, life happens and I live life too. Genius demands.

the value of volunteering

14.03.2026

A: You volunteer a lot, don’t you?

S: Yes.

A: What exactly is it that you do?

S: Curation, Journalism, Research writing, Protecting the planet and nature, Inspiring the protection of the planet, Advocating to the government for the poor, Activism, Working with Human Resource Issues, Being a Newsletter Editor, Professional Photography, Fundraising, Events Organisation, Tour guiding, Explaining art, Teaching, Presenting…

A: Many hats. Many skills.

S: Everything that is needed and asked for, everything that is wanted. Yet, it impresses no one. Yet it brings in nothing for me personally.

A: Why do it then?

S: I’ve always wanted to be a good person. I’ve always wanted to build the community.

A: Don’t you think that you have done enough?

S: There is always more to do.

A: They would suck at the blood in your veins. They would keep you working and working.

S: People need help. I can help them.

A: What is the value of this volunteering?

S: Personal satisfaction. The right to look in the mirror. The use of the privilege that has been given to me through the lottery of life. The knowledge that I am a man. That I have used my gifts to benefit and improve this world. That I have touched countless lives and influenced for the better. The knowledge that I have not squandered my gifts.

A: In all this, there is no reward. They do not even care about your volunteering in interviews.

S: That is the worst thing about being a man and having honour, for serving the community. You get nothing out of it. That is the regret.

A: Why not keep the time for yourself?

S: There is a big difference between a man and a non-man. A man has a social conscience and integrity. He will work for the community. He has a big heart. A non-man has nothing and is nothing. You can’t ask me to become like these non-men. Because I am a man and I have a heart.

A Day in Culture – The Tower of London, Lucien Freud, Chinese Children’s Costumes, Suffering Friends and The Motorcyle Diaries

13.02.2026

I was writing to Alfonso. Always Alfonso. I was relating the adventures of the day. He was interested. There were others who were too, for who knows what reasons? Whatever love they had, they would not show it.

In one of the choices of life that make up your everyday existence, I made this choice. That I would choose life over books. Books that are so intoxicating, so stimulating. But that cannot give you love. The company that they give you is fine. But it is not the feel and the sight of that which is most beautiful and most human. It is because of this choice that I dedicated this day to doing and not to reading.

After waking up, I read newspapers and poetry in Hindi, Punjabi, Urdu, Spanish and French. I also read The New Scientist and articles on psychology. There was a very interesting article about the communication network between the organs in the body. Life is about communication. So we communicate. Some of us are understood. Some of us are not. But with me, there is one that makes the attempt to understand. It took an eternity to find them.

In the morning, I went to the Tower of London. There were a group of twenty of us. I have seen this place from afar so many times and now I was going to be inside. It was a fine day although the promise was of rain. As I went inside, I saw that they had launched a children’s trail with Beano comics, comics that I read as a kid. Some familiar faces to guide me in. We started off with the history of the White Tower and I learnt that William of Normandy was the son of a skinner’s daughter. So am I. Our caste in India is of the Untouchables, the leather workers. Inside, after what seemed like a long time inside the armoury and its extensions, I wandered off from the group and went to admire the Crown Jewels. After all, from an Indian perspective, they are ours. They are mine. I was looking at my things. Someone was looking after them for me. The pernicious state that could act as the steward for no one. I looked upon the Kohi Noor, the Mountain of Light. They took it from us, from the hands of a Punjabi child that they forced to bow before them. A stone of rare beauty.

Inside one of the buildings, there was the chapel of the Normans. It was one of the most beautiful places I have seen in my life. I was hypnotised by it. I enjoyed reading about the role of the Tower in the world war and also about the animals that they would keep there. In the imprisonment room, I spent a while reading the grafitti. The message that struck me most was that it is not adversity that overcomes men, but impatience. Watch and wait. That is the secret of wisdom. That is why we hold onto life. Reading the exhibit of how the state had crushed the spirit of resistance was invigorating. They could never kill our resistance. We were difference. And difference you can never crush. The man that was standing in this Tower was one of a long line of those who fought for independence, those willing to take on the biggest bully, the gangster that coerced with duress and evil.

Afterwards, I mooched around in the gift shop for a moment, admiring the replica of a skull and trying to see all of this through the eyes of a tourist. They were awed by British sovereignty. And I? I was repelled by it.

The Lucien Freud exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery was next. I have never been overly a fan of his work and the supposed psychological depth of his brush. However, I am also always willing to give everyone a chance to prove themselves. Why not? This world that does not give me chances, I cannot become as corrupt as it. Because I am fair where they are not. What I made of the exhibition was that it was certainly passable and certainly striking. Looking at the green, grey and blue tints in the flesh of the sitters, at all of the pictures of his lovers and the intensity of his gaze with its distortions, did I feel anything? I could see the originality and the concentration on observation. Yet I could not see the connection. The mother of the artist had salvaged his brightly coloured doodles in crayon as a child and I spent a while contrasting the mature work with that of the boy. He had lost the feel for colour and gone for moody and sombre tones. But he had retained that simplicity of style.

Seeing the artist’s long row of lovers and then the failures of his romances was sombering. I wondered to myself why there were so many marriages and divorces. And then, his work, it could be seen as the dance of attraction and repulsion as things fell apart. One unfinished painting suggesting the death of the relationship.

At Charing Cross Library, there was an exhibition of Chinese Children’s costumes. There were wonderful fabrics and designs displayed on the balcony of the library. Brilliant colours which captured the identity of the peoples. One story I found absolutely fascinating was that of the Miao people, who wore history upon their textiles in the face of nomadism and the lack of a written language.

At the library, I also picked up a copy of The Motorcycle Diaries by Che Guevera that was on the sale pile. After all, what I am I but the Revolutionary? I also had a dream when I was a teenager of riding on a motorcycle all through Europe. But I did not do it. Because I had too many responsibilities and I was in a hurry to get things done. To work. But then, I come from a different background. I am not of the middle class. I am Indian. Yet I have the love of freedom too. And that is because I am Indian, because I am Punjabi. I read about fifty pages of the book while commuting to and fro from places. Che has a beautiful style. At heart, like The Tiger, he is a poet.

The last stop of the day was with friends. They were suffering politics. They were suffering the state. And yet, they got on with life. And this is the thing. The state will always be there to wreck everyone’s life. But we will still get on with things. We will still live. Even though the state is death. We sat in this coffee house. They had mocha, I had hot chocolate. And we talked and talked. We have missed each other. We talked about old times. We talked about things now. We talked about the future. As I looked into their faces, I thought to myself that a face is not a visual object. It is a fantastic projection. It is all the memories together that replay when you look at the face of someone. That is what constructs the face.

I spent time afterwards looking at the floral arrangements in Selfridge’s for Valentines. Always learning. There were Ikibana exhibitions because the floral shop is now owned by the Japanese. I also looked over at the watch designs. Always looking and looking, always trying to find something in this world. I spent time on the phone with the one that is mine. Listening to their voice, listening to their day.

When I got home, I joined the Central tickets website and booked an excursion to the theatre tomorrow for Valentine’s day, a play about Cyprus and death. A dark play. The reality is that life is dark. But we fill it with light. This world is death. But we want to live.

a day in culture

30.01.2025

‘So,’ he asked me, ‘What did you get up to today?’

Alfonso had been dreamily staring into the distance. It was no good asking him what he was thinking in that tailored, beautiful grey suit of his that accentuated his sleek good looks. When he was thinking, he was gone from this world. But, at last, he had finally arisen from his slumber and deigned to parley with a mere mortal, myself.

‘Well, today, when I have not been calling the one that is mine, I have been immersed in culture. I was at the Singh Twins exhibition at Kew Gardens poring over the digital drawings. Then, there was a catch up with friends followed by a stint in the Science Museum as I explored an exhibition on the Future of Food. I rushed from there like a madman and made it into the ‘Zootopia 2’ film. I love animation. I love art. The first film, I took my nephew to watch it and it was his first film in a cinema. I created that memory for him. As I walked out of the cinema, there was a band playing in Westfield Shopping Centre, a lady banging at some drums, a cool guy with a saxophone and another guy that was equally as cool playing the decks as a DJ.’

‘A fine mixture of art, film, music and science and the environment. You do keep yourself busy dabbling in all sorts of different things.’

‘We only have one life,’ I said. ‘I want to keep on learning things, exploring this great world of ours. I want to keep connected to science and culture and the future. I am greedy for life in a way that people have forgotten to be. Greedy for new experiences to keep on changing and reshaping this mind of mine.’

‘What do you have planned for the rest of this day?’

‘I will read the novel that the one that cares for me has given to me.’

‘A beautiful end to a beautiful day. One that shares literature with you. You are lucky.’

‘It took me much time to get this lucky.’

‘How do you reflect on this day in culture?’ Alfonso gave me the look of a schoolmaster. He was maddeningly patronising in his airs sometimes. But because he was a goodnatured fellow, I would let it pass.

‘As I have often told you, I often thank myself for making my life such a beautiful one. I have chosen this life of study, of keeping up with things, of always extending myself and my knowledge. I have chosen to be a voracious reader and looker and thinker. I have always grown this mind from the tiny seed that it once was into a mighty banyan tree.’

‘I see you deliberately pick an Eastern tree to make this metaphor.’

‘Yes, it is consciously done. I am proud of being Punjabi. I am proud of coming from Mother India.’

‘Are there any other reflections?’

‘I think on how it could have all been different. I could have been with one of those other ones that would have been sharing my day with me. And then life would have had a different colour and a different taste. Instead of the strawberries, perhaps cherries. Instead of the cola, perhaps lemonade. The caprice of the ones that we love. It shapes our destinies. And? Perhaps they would muse on these words of mine and think what it would have been if they had put their slender and smooth hands into mine, the hands of this warrior and this Tiger. These hands that would have held them for the rest of their life in love, adulation and protection.’

‘Happiness is always tinged with sorrow. What we are given is always touched by loss.’

‘It is because it is so that we appreciate what we have. When I was in the wilderness, I could smell the milk and honey of the fortunate. Now I am fortunate myself but I have not forgotten the hunger and thirst of the wilderness. And those that put me there with their enmity.’

Capital Ring Highgate to Stratford (Travel Writing)

35, 877 steps in total today (approximately 15.65 miles or 25.19 kilometers)

18.01.2026

Today, I walked the Capital Ring with a friend. The weather was not inclement. The company was not unpleasant. I was not tired.

We started outside Highgate underground station. I had been warned that the high street was a bit rough but the area we were in seemed nice enough. I have a game that I play with my friend. To collect as many conversations from people as we can. I started it off. As we got into the space between the trees on either end, there was a lady with a very big dog. I started telling her about the walk that we were doing and she had never heard of it. The dog was doing something of a wrestle with her and my friend wanted to make tracks, so we said goodbye and watched her run off with the dog.

The path was absolutely littered with runners. I had never seen so many congregate in one place before. It wasn’t cold and they were wearing their usual skimpy outfits. I felt envious of them running along. After all, it is a very pleasurable exercise. I used to run in the woods like them when I was a kid because I used to live in the woods too.

We took the Parkland Walk to Finsbury Park and stopped off in the cafe. We almost didn’t stay as the queue looked a bit chaotic. However, I was determined to sit down and we changed our mind about finding another place. My friend treated me to a cherry bakewell cake. It was delicious. The cafe had a mini art exhibition featuring artists that did brightly coloured flowers and also pretty landscapes. Some of the artworks were for sale at what I thought was a fairly reasonable price of £200. What was particularly nice about cafe were the cheery flower arrangements on each table. They had a daffodil with an orange rose that was blushing with red. Very cosy and very beautiful and warming.

I bagged another conversation for our competition. There was an Asian man from Liverpool that I struck up a conversation with on the way out from the cafe. He was a runner in a half marathon they had on today at Finsbury park. He said they did about seven laps and the gradient in the park was a bit of a killer.

We walked down through the park and ended up sitting at a bench leading up to a path with a pretty church in the background for lunch. As we were eating, a little grey greyhound in a jacket came scampering up to investigate my friend’s lunch which happened to be honey sandwiches. The owner, a middle-aged brunette with an Australian accent, came bounding down and, noticing that I hadn’t opened my packet of Scotch eggs, informed me that the dog had once stolen a scotch egg from a man’s lunch. He’d been okay with it. You always have to factor a hungry dog in your lunchtime in a park I guess.

I was counting up the birds I saw as we walked towards Woodberry Wetlands and Clissold Park. Today, I saw swans, blacked headed gulls, seagulls, a black cormorant, sparrows, crows, pigeons, Egyptian geese, ducks and coots. One of the joys of a long walk in the greenery is the animals of course. At Woodberry Wetlands, we watched the sparrows resting amongst the bullrushes as my friend was telling me that it was unusual of them to hang about there. The water looked absolutely divine in the sunshine.

There was a climbing wall at some point near a building with the water reservoirs near it. We did it after me and my friend took some shots of a big shiny mirror ball with the building distorted within it. It was dead there before we came and after we went probably. But when we went to take the photographs, a group of children came with their mums and usurped the territory so we had to wait for them to disappear to get the shot. As to the climbing wall? I had to have a go. The grips for the feet were tiny so I only did a wall and a half before I gave up. I couldn’t get the footing for it in my hiking boots and was using up a lot of upper body strength exclusively.

Next, we passed through Abney Park Cemetery. We read up on the founder of the Salvation Army who was buried there along with many other folk from them too. We compared the cemetary to Montmarte Cemetary to which we had both been too and I spent the time reading the inscriptions on the graves. They looked very picturesque with the green moss growing on them.

The next stop was Walthamstow Marshes. We followed the Lee Navigation canal to our finish point. I saw a book floating in the water and we took some shots with our cameras in our usual photography competition that we have on these walks. I also did something I’ve never done before in my life. I saw the opportunity, asked permission and I got a long handled axe and split open a log of wood. It was the third time of asking. My friend shot a video of me while I was doing it so that I could share with our other friends and so on. It was very satisfying and made me feel immensely powerful.

I managed to bag another entry for our competition to collect conversations with people on the trip. It was a brunette mother that was tethering her boat house to a post. I asked her to resolve our dispute on how cold the boats get. But it turned out that the cold wasn’t the problem. Rather it was the mud.

At some point in Stoke Newington, we went into a second hand bookshop. I managed to get a second hand book on Art Deco and also picked up some free booklets by the Guardian on the Second World War, a set of seven of them.

The final stop on the walk was just before Stratford Olympic Park where we parted company. We went to a cafe and sat outside while my friend sipped at a tea and I demolished some chocolate.

the happiness of duty (microfiction)

26.12.2025

S: When he died, he said ‘Thank god I have done my duty.’ There is no satisfaction like the satisfaction of duty.

A: Who says? You might have a better life without duty. It can’t be duty all the time.

S: How can you have a moment’s peace or happiness if you haven’t done your duty?

A: What brings this on?

S: I have someone. I feel happy. But I can’t be fully happy until I have fulfilled my duty. I don’t want happiness to take over my responsibilities.

A: Does it have to do that?

S: There is a risk. There is always a risk with duty. Because it is much easier and more convenient not to do your duty. That is what most people do. I do not want to be like them. With me, duty has to come first.

A: Just enjoy your happiness.

S: There is this worry. That this happiness will end.

A: If duty does not make you happy, forget about duty.

S: You know, when we got the news of my grandfather’s death, I had to take the phone call. I was the man in the house. I was the only one that could speak English. I had just been told that my grandfather had died. My beloved grandfather. Do you know the first thing that I had to do? I had to walk over to my grandmother’s house and get her so that we could take care of her and console her. I knew that she would know what had happened when I went there because I had just walked over from her house. I was sleeping over there at the time. I forced myself to walk to her house. I forced myself to pretend that nothing had happened, like I had been told to do. I forced myself to do it. I did it because it was my duty. It was my duty to protect her and look after her so that she was not alone.

A: Don’t think about those moments. They are gone. Forget about them. Heal yourself from those moments.

S: I forced myself to do it. I forced myself to act that part. I did my duty. And every time, I will have to do my duty. It doesn’t matter if I don’t want to do it and it is hard. It doesn’t matter what it costs. I will do it.

a nice memory (microfiction)

21.12.2025

A: What is the most beautiful memory you have?

S: I’ve been brought up with a lot of care and attention. I have many beautiful memories. Why choose just one?

A: Okay, it does not have to be the most beautiful. Just one that is beautiful.

S: Well, the one is one that happened many times. We would be staying at our grandparents’ house in London. It was exciting to be in London by itself. And my grandad would get us together and tell us a story before bedtime. And then he would ask us what the story meant at the end. Sometimes, he would take us on long walks and then tell us the stories as we were walking.

A: Those are your best memories? Stories?

S: They were stories told through love. They might not give happiness to some people, I know that all too well, I that write my stories. But they gave me happiness. And after the stories, my grandfather would be my bedfellow. I always slept in the same bed with him when I stayed over at his house. Because I was the closest to my grandfather. We were like best friends.

A: From being this kid that was excited by stories, why have you become this angry animal? If you had such a happy childhood, why are you full of rage and sadness?

S: Even when I was a child, I had anger management problems. I was born to be The Tiger.

A: Do you often dwell on these happy moments?

S: It is Christmas time. Today, a man told me that at Christmas time, you remember the ones that are not there. The ones that you had with you at Christmas. Do you know, there was this one. I asked them out in the New Year. It was my New Year’s resolution. I had them for that Christmas, thinking that they were mine although I did not celebrate it with them. I remember my grandparents at their house. We would have Christmas there. What is that if it is not dwelling on happy moments?

A: Happiness tinged with grief.

S: There was a time when they laughed that I felt all the joy in the world. Life has changed. Now, they are all gone from my life. They are either the dead or the living dead. They all left me.

A: Well now you have someone. And you can live in their laughter.

mother medicine

20.12.2025

A: Why didn’t you succumb to the depression?

S: Why did I get up in the morning out of bed and I was never late for work? Why did I pass my university exams? Why did I volunteer at all those places? Why did I work six jobs and all the overtime that I could get? Why did I educate my nephew so that he passed his exams in every spare moment that I had? Why did I help my friends through their problems without telling them about my own problems?

A: Yes. Why? How did you do it? What is the cure?

S: Because even when I felt like shit, I had to pretend in front of my mother that there was nothing wrong. So that I did not hurt her. So that she did not think there was any problem. Because there were people depending on me and people that looked up to me. That needed me.

A: You did that for two whole years?

S: I could die for my mother. What is a bit of acting compared to that? I have sworn to protect her. She wanted me to work. She wanted me to be a man. Not just a man. The man.

A: This face that you showed the world, this laughing face, how could you play that role for two whole years?

S: You don’t get an Oscar for real life. In real life, there is only one take. Everything that I do, I am talented at. Acting as well.

A: Isn’t the new philosophy that you should go broken to the doctor and your whole life should be broken if you are sad?

S: The sadness that I had was real. It wasn’t based on nothing. It was based on heartbreak and trauma. I am not of this generation of people. I am six thousand years old. The brave live throughout sadness and loss. They do not fall into the pit. I am strength. I am resilience. I am The Tiger. And the mother of The Tiger expects a warrior. That is my power. That is why I am invincible and indefatigable.