Last post

It has been a long time since I wrote anything on this blog. I've always thought that I would keep writing this blog even after my death, pre written articles posted by someone of course. But ... time brought some changes and I could no longer write anything here. I didn't stop writing altogether. I am writing at www.northerndiaries.wordpress.com and at www.sudharsanansampath.wordpress.com also I am going to start a movie blog here at www.wearemovies.wordpress.com. Come and visit me as many times as you want. Thanks for all the support.  Love you all :)

Chapter 32: Turkish Coffee

Have you ever had Turkish coffee?

You know, the dark coffee which comes in a minuscule cup, embossed with medieval Persian art. No?

You should try it sometime.

Why?

Oh, why not? That’s why.

I didn't know I was going to have a Turkish coffee yesterday, when I was waiting for a friend, camouflaged with the drizzle and darkness of the night at midtown Toronto. I was hungry. My friend was supposed to meet me at Donlands subway station at 9 pm. I was sitting on the stone bench opposite to the station, around 8:45 pm. That’s how punctual I am, or some might say, jobless. Do you think I was thinking about Turkish coffee at that time? No sir! Not even about a regular coffee which comes in a paper cup. I’m not an avid coffee drinker, you see.

But how did I end up drinking a Turkish coffee?

I don’t know. Things happen.

But the thing is, there weren’t any Turkish coffee shops in that area. As a matter of fact, there weren’t Turkish anything.

I continued to sit there, not minding the fact that I was completely drenched in that supposed drizzle. Minutes passed, but nothing happened.

“Selam dostum! Nasilsin? the sudden loud voice, so close to me and an unknown language made me jump.

“Huh?” I looked around to find a slim man in his late twenties, with a pony tail and a complete smile.

“Nasilsin?” he repeated the last word again.

What, did he expect me to understand him?

“What? No Turkish? It’s OK. Unlike other people here, I know English, you see” his big smile again. His foreign accent was unmistakable. He stressed on the r more than necessary and usedth instead of t. For instance, he said ‘whath’ instead of ‘what’. Not that there was anything wrong with his spelling. It actually sounded musical.

“I saw you from my shop. You didn’t move for a long time. I thought, ‘wait, something’s wrong’ so I came to check up on you. Are you OK?” he asked in a concerned voice.

“You’re welcome to come into my shop and sit there for a while, until it stops raining” he added.

I was sitting there for a long time and I could swear I didn’t see any shop in front of me. There was an abandoned parking lot and the subway station. “Thanks! But what shop?” I stopped before completing the sentence as I saw that small coffee shop behind him as he moved. My jaw dropped when I first saw that coffee shop. It wasn’t anything extraordinary. It was just a small dark shop with green glowing sign which said ‘Gizemli Şeyler – قهوةc (Coffee)’. My jaw dropped because it was now sitting in the place where, minutes ago, there was an abandoned parking lot. I looked around, there was no parking lot to be found.

“Hey” I yelled suspiciously “where did the parking lot go?”

“What parking lot?”

“The abandoned one. Near the station”  I looked at him for answers.

“What station? What’re you talking about man?” he tried to sound clueless but it was obvious that he knew something. 

I looked around, once again, to show him the station. Then I realized I was inside the actual coffee shop. “Are you OK man”  he gently touched my shoulder.

I tried to say something, but only ‘ugh’ came out. When did I enter the coffee shop. I was sitting on a stone bench outside the Donlands subway station. I saw the abandoned parking lot next to it. Then I was listening to the music. Drizzle turned into a rain. I continued sitting there. I heard a voice. That middle eastern looking man spoke to me. He invited me to his coffee shop. Up until that point, I didn’t see any coffee shop in that area, not when I was walking around and definitely not when I was sitting. Then the coffee shop appeared, out of thin air, where the parking lot was! Then, in a blink of an eye, I was inside the coffee shop, without my knowledge of actually going in. My head started to hurt. I repeatedly tried to sequence the events, but it made no sense. It left me confused yet dazzled.

“You look tired my friend, what you need is a good, hot cup of coffee … huh? how about one?”I nodded. “This is a first rate coffee shop man. My father opened it in 1954. Only few people know about this place. But my father liked it like that. I like it like that.” he spoke as he seamlessly moved behind the counter, cleaning and collecting utensils and an old copper pot to make that coffee he promised. I regained my senses, just a little bit, to look around, but still perplexed. His coffee shop was so unique, unlike any other I’ve ever been to. It had beautiful rugs full of intriguing art, the seating area, the doors, the ceiling and the counter top, everything was covered with intricate Persian designs. The place was sophisticated. You know, the kind of sophistication that comes with ancient things.

‘I must have traveled back in time or traveled so far away’ I thought.

“So, you like this place?” his back was facing me as he was making the coffee.

“Yeah, It is beautiful”  I replied. I walked around the shop, exploring the wall paintings and the few books that were purposely scattered on the floor. Finally I settled beside the counter to watch the elaborate coffee preparation. Million questions were boiling in my mind, ready to come oozing out of my mouth in the first glance of opportunity. But the opportunity never came. Maybe I just didn’t care. Maybe there were two me’s at that point. One was the logical one, who always sought answers and thrived in progression. The other me, never asked any questions, probably because he knew all the answers to every question there is. Or maybe, he didn’t want to know any answers. Maybe he knew answers always spoiled the fun of a good mystery.

The man worked hard for a long time to make that single cup. He carefully roasted and ground the beans and then boiled it with filtered water in the copper pot. It was mesmerizing to watch him make that coffee; to watch his long hands performing different activities which were required to make that cup, such as adding sugar cubes to the pot, stirring the pot and adding crushed spices in the boiling coffee.

“What kind of coffee is this?” my voice sounded calm. I felt calm, actually.

“A Turkish kind, of course. It is so good to have one during rainy times”  his reply didn’t interrupt his focus.

He took the pot out of the stove and placed it in the counter. He took out a fine porcelain cup out of the cupboard. It was small yet stunning. I’m not usually the one to marvel at the designs and patterns in vessels and rugs. But that cup, the entire shop for that matter, was ensorcelling. There was an underlying faint green glow in that shop. It somehow seems important to describe. But I’m not sure why.

He poured the hot coffee into the cup. The dark coffee filled the room with a pleasant aroma.

“Enjoy my friend” 

I took a small sip. It filled my insides with warmth and asserted a certain sense of calmness. A forceful assurance, an understanding that everything is just fine.

“Mmm” I let out an involuntary moan as the taste of pure coffee took over my throat.

“Glad you like it” he smiled from behind the counter. 

“The party is not over yet. I also have Semolina cookies, Aşure, Zerde, Sultac, Tavuk Göğsü, Keşkül, Pişmaniye … you name it, I have it.”  His face was unusually bright with delight. He looked so pleased as if serving me fulfilled his life’s purpose.

“They all sound so good. But I don’t know what any of those means” I confessed.

“What?” he yelled in surprise. He was taken aback. “How come? I know you are not familiar with the language. But you are here now. Haven’t you tasted any of these? These are tasty Turkish delights” he pointed me towards a clean glass case underneath the counter. It was filled with delicious looking flavorful desserts and snacks. But I’m sure those desserts, the glass counter, even the coffee shop, for that matter, weren’t actually there or maybe invisible to my eyes until he pointed them to me. I was starting to understand the existence of that Turkish coffee place.     

“No” I nodded. “I’ve never heard about any of these desserts. Sorry” I thought of explaining the oddity of my situation. But then I thought ‘what’s the point. I’m here now. I’ll taste every single one of those now’. I did … and I’m glad I did.

After all those buttery-sugary treats, I still felt light, like a feather floating aimlessly with the wind. But my hunger had vanished.

“Ah, that was good. Thank you so much” I voiced my gratitude.

“Don’t mention it. I saw you, out in the rain, completely drenched. You looked cold but calm. I liked it. So, I thought ‘well, if anyone deserved a hot cup of coffee, it’s you’. It is Turkish hospitality my friend.” he concluded.

“Listen, I only have three dollars on me.” before I finished saying what I have to say, I was interrupted.

“Dollars huh?, keep it. You need it more than me.” he rejected my offer.

“But I insist. Otherwise I will feel bad. “He thought about it for awhile. Reaching to a conclusion, he said “mm, we don’t want that. Do we? … OK, give me fifty cents “I searched my pocket and collected two twenty five cents and gave it to him. “Here you go”

“Thanks you sir” he bowed.

“Thank YOU. This was amazing. I’ll definitely visit again.”

“Don’t worry about it. Whenever you NEED a coffee, I’ll pay you a visit.” he replied. Somehow that reply wasn’t as mysterious as it should have been.

He walked with me to the exit. He opened the front door for me. Outside the door, I saw the wet stone bench facing the station. Rain soaked road was reflecting the street lights. The street was empty except for the parked cars and mopeds. I thanked him once again and started walking towards the bench without looking back.

“There you are” I heard my friend’s voice from behind. I looked around. She was standing at the corner of the subway station. “I was waiting here for ten minutes. Where were you?”  She questioned me. I sensed that she was angry. “I was … “ I struggled not knowing what to say “You just walked out of that abandoned parking lot. How come? What were you doing inside?” she kept asking questions relentlessly.

“Drinking coffee” I said calmly. 

“There? At this time? Nobody goes in there” she looked at the parking lot in disbelief. It was just an empty ground with yellow stripes indicating that it once used to be a parking lot. There was a beautiful Turkish coffee shop, minutes ago where the open parking ground, now stood. I can’t say that I was surprised.

I shrugged and said “It was raining. That’s why”

“You do this every time, you make me wait. It’s not cool” she looked angry still.

“You know what. I’ll make it up for you.” I said 

“How?” she asked, annoyed but interested. 

“Have you ever had a Turkish coffee?” I asked.

“No” I somehow expected that reply.

“I heard somewhere that Turkish coffee is so good for this cold weather. I have $2.50. I’ll buy one for you. I know a place” I winked at her. 

I thought she would protest at this strange suggestion, but thankfully, she didn’t.

“OK” she said. I put my arms around her. She gave me a warm smile as a response and wrapped her arms around my waist. We started to walk on that rain drenched road in search of a hot Turkish coffee.

Chapter 31: The Stranger

“The universe as we know it is a joint product of the observer and the observed.”

– Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

The quiet lake was brilliantly reflecting the city, its neon beauty rippled by an occasional wave every now and then. He was sitting at the edge of one of many piers of that huge waterfront, letting his legs dangerously close to the cold autumn water, staring thoughtlessly at the distant island lights. Let us refer to him as The Stranger for the rest of the story, for convenient’s sake. Behind him, stood the city, so tall and bright, decorated with various coloured electric lights, bearing numerous stripes in her stomach in the form of intersections and residential streets. She was silently observing him, not just him; everything that was going on beneath her; everything from the fact that it was a cold and windy sunday night. Winter would be at the doorstep unannounced, anytime soon. The streets were almost empty, except for a few boring cars and their drivers, anxious to get to their quiet homes, to get their six hours of sleep in order to perform exceptionally well in their respective jobs or schools. The stores and bars were closed for the day. Rolling beer cans along the sidewalks painted a complex picture of yesterday’s party scene.

But none of that concerned the stranger. He was still staring at the distant island lights and his gleaming eyes reflected the well lit boat that was returning to the dock. Few hours ago, the stranger would have smiled sarcastically if anyone had said to him that he will be sitting at one of the secluded part of the city’s waterfront and staring emptily at the island. He was hurriedly returning home from a late dinner party that his coworker had organized. He wanted to get to his cozy king sized bed as soon as possible because he had an early client meeting the following day and he would be mental to not get his full night sleep before a client’s meeting. He needed to be as fresh as possible. He never had time to stare at lakes and islands in his life. He always had someplace to go to; meetings, parties, functions and such. He was a busy man, an early sleeper and an early riser. He had no business whatsoever at the waterfront in the middle of that freezing night. He always thought that the waterfront was for hooligans and stupid teenagers who wanted to drink and make out. But, what changed today? It looked as if he was dead inside.

He was quite “normal” until that damned subway ride a couple of hours ago. He bid his farewell to his friends and colleagues and raced towards the subway in that pale orange city taxi. It was half past ten when he arrived at the station. There were no proper lights around the station and as a result it was extremely dark except for the dull light highlighting the word Subway. He waited exactly seven minutes on the southbound platform to get into that old grey city train. When he entered, he glanced around to look for a spot to sit. There, he found it! At the front end of the car there was one spot left near a guy who was sleeping with his mouth open. He checked once again to see if there was any other seat available. Unfortunately he couldn’t find anything. Normally he would never sit near a guy with smelly rugged clothes, dirty hair and was clearly passed out, alcohol probably! But he made an exception for only once, as his legs begged him to sit. The train rode smoothly inside the dark tunnel, swiftly passing through the tunnel lights, one by one, which made it look like an endless parade of flashing white lights. For the longest time, he never looked up to see his fellow passengers. He kept looking down at the bolted lower end of the red pole. There was nothing to look at anyways.

Everyone in that train was either sleeping as a desperate attempt to put an end to that day or they were staring at particularly nothing with their empty eyes hoping that the ride would come to an end. Even if someone accidentally made eye contact with a person sitting in front of them, they immediately receded their sight to somewhere else, usually to a door or an advertisement poster which didn’t confront them like the eye contact. The ride was quite long and uneventful. Somewhere in the middle of the ride there was an announcement from a hidden speaker that that train would be out of service at the last station. It didn’t concern the stranger one bit because the last station was his stop. People were getting off and getting on at all the little stops that the train was making. What he didn’t notice was that the number of people getting off the train was always greater than the number of people who actually got on the vehicle. Eventually, as the night progressed, nobody got on. As the journey was nearing to an end, there were only three people left including him.

A middle aged Hispanic woman and the young man who was sitting/sleeping next to him with his mouth open for the entire ride were the other two. Soon the train came to a complete halt. He got up from his seat fairly quickly and walked towards the door to get out and get on with his life, without noticing that the young man who was sitting next to him never got up urgently to resume his life from wherever he paused it. In fact, his mouth was still open and he never made any attempt to even slightly move towards the door. The train doors opened with a chime and the stranger stepped out of the train and let out a huge sigh. ‘Never again, should I do a late night anything’ he thought to himself. Just before he decided to step on the escalator to get out of the station, he heard a shrill voice stopping him.

“Excuse me!” it was the hispanic woman from the train.

“Yes?” the stranger replied politely.

“I tried to wake the guy up, you know, in the train. He is not getting up. I think he is drunk and passed out. They are announcing that the train is out of service and the doors might close soon. Would you help me get him up?” her pleading voice and innocent face did the trick for him. It still didn’t do the trick, actually. He just pretended. ‘Why would I help a drunk guy to get out of the train. I’m not responsible for his poor life decisions’ the stranger would have argued under a normal circumstance, the one in which a pretty woman wasn’t involved. But he couldn’t let her know who he was inside. So instead of his true response, he watched himself saying this:

“He was still inside? Wow, ok! I’ll try and get him up” the stranger was pleased with himself as he impressed her with his compassion. He, once again, stepped inside the train, with the woman by his side, of course! As the stranger approached the young man, he started noticing many things that he hadn’t noticed before. His face was extremely pale, unusually pale. His eye lids were not fully closed. It was almost closed but the eye balls were still visible.

“Do you think he is unconscious? ‘Cause I asked him to wake up. He didn’t even flinch, not once! But I didn’t touch him.” the woman by his side whispered. Since the young man hasn’t responded to anything, the stranger made his mind up and decided to tap the man’s shoulder.

“Hey buddy, wake up! This is the last stop. The train’s out of service” he repeatedly tapped the shoulder. But he got nothing in return. They didn’t know what to do. They were standing in that empty train surrounded by an eerie silence. Finally the woman broke the silence and said “Ok! I’ll go up and call for a station agent to help. You keep trying to wake him up. I’ll be back in a minute.” without waiting for a response she raced towards the escalator. The stranger didn’t like how the scenario played out. He wanted to impress the woman but this was not his intention; to wait for a long time to wake up a drunken young man. As a natural next step he repeated the same words above and started to shake the young man’s shoulders in a desperate attempt to wake him up. But then something poignant happened, something that would change him, that would shape his life for years to come; something that would bring the stranger, the observer within him, outside; something that would haunt him when the nights fall; something that would make him stare at the distant lights, at times, for hours and hours and make him into this thoughtless being who just observes the shift, the change, the blinks in those lights, like the city herself who has all the consciousness in the world but who is just another observer witnessing the laughter, the tears, the joys, the successes, the failures and the tragedies that occur within its transparent body.

As the stranger shook the young man’s shoulder, his head freely dropped on his right shoulder leaving the young man’s partially opened dead eyes to stare at the stranger. It must be something in the eyes of a dead person,which always announces effortlessly that the person you are looking at is not there anymore, he/she simply does not exist or used to exist. The stranger is no dull man, he immediately recognized that he was staring at a dead person which in turn led to some other gritty realizations. The young man was dead the whole time. The stranger was riding the subway for a long time, unaware that he was sitting next to a dead person.Another thing that he noticed was that the young man had no nails in any of his slightly blood stained fingers. The stranger was filled with horror. An unrecognizable and uncomfortable fume arose from underneath his stomach, fear? sadness? guilt? shock? the stranger never explored. Even the dullest of minds would be able to tell that it was a clear sign of a ruthless torture and murder. But the young man looked so spotless, like he was still alive, he seemed to be just tired and asleep.

The stranger, fully aware that the man in front of him is dead, very slowly ran the tip of his finger across the man’s breathless face hoping that the young man would wake up suddenly and thank him for waking him up. But he never did. The place seemed even more quiet and eerie. He never knew how long he stood there watching that still, lifeless face with an opened mouth, which looked like a beautiful statue. Soon he heard a pair of footsteps approaching the motionless train. It was the woman and a station worker in an stripped orange uniform. “He’s dead” the stranger said to the woman mechanically. She freaked out and almost a second later, started to sob uncontrollably out of fear, shock and other perfectly blended emotions. The stranger strangely wanted to cry, but nothing came out. It was unusual for him to have had access to that particular emotion because he was never a crying person. Several minutes later, the place was filled with cops, medics and station workers.

Nobody noticed the stranger slipping out of the subway station. Frankly, nobody cared. Everyone in that station were talking about the dead person and shared theories about how he must’ve been murdered before being dumped in an empty train on the other end of the line. Some even considered the possibility that the dead man might have travelled back and forth in the train for a long time. But the stranger wasn’t there to hear all the speculations. He was walking south, on a dark, empty road aimlessly; his face stunned and his hands cold, he kept walking until he reached the end of the city; the waterfront. He saw the dark lake that was spread for miles in front of him. He looked behind and saw the magnificent city silently looking at him and suddenly out of nowhere an immense and intense sadness hit him. “Oh, you poor thing!” he whispered under his breath to the city. He looked at the lake again and at last the island lights caught his attention. It was there, seemed so far away, those glittering dots seemed unattainable.

‘People must be sleeping inside their cozy homes, in the island, in the city, resting for the night and the lucky few would actually open their eyes to resume their life where they had paused, and some, like the young man in the train, would have woken up this morning for one last time, unaware of what’s around the corner, lurking for them ! Yet, life goes on, earth revolves around the sun, without a pause, day in and day out, people die, new ones were born, the city keeps watching whatever that’s happening underneath it. Bizarre!’ he thought, the very first time he allowed himself to have these kinds of thoughts, unfiltered and unrestricted.

He sat there for a very long time looking at the still water and the distant island, not minding the cold winds and the city behind him. Hours later, what seemed to him as minutes, he witnessed the early morning pink shades from the horizon. Soon the sun followed the pink shades sheepishly and revealed itself completely with all of its beauty and ferocity. The lake glittered in the sun light and revealed the distant fishing boats approaching the city from the island signalling the beginning of another day, another life, yet another dawn.

The stranger?

He was still thoughtlessly staring at the island, the lake and the sun, except that there was a fixed smile in his face while glistening tears reflecting the golden sunlight, ran across his cheeks, a sign of relief, as if a weight or a part of himself was lifted from within him.

Chapter 30: Life

Yesterday, I bid goodbye to one of my best friends at Montreal international airport. The airport was busier than most of the days, so we were told. We grabbed one last dinner together. After double checking his luggage for one last time and sorting the passport and tickets out, it was time for check in, time for him to leave. I was sad to see him go. 

I first met him when I was working as a Research Analyst in Chennai, India. We became good friends mostly because of our movie conversations and the common goal which was 'study abroad'. We entered this country together two years ago with couple of American Tourister bags, filled with uncertainties, hopes, terror, and excitement. We didn't know anyone in this country. The language was new and so were the people and culture. We faced most of the daily challenges together. We got along well as most of our hobbies, interests and passions were the same. We both found solace through photography, cinema, and books. We explored the country together and discovered some strange, beautiful and remote places. We were sliding down a small hill, just so that we can take pictures of a pure blue lake at minus twenty five degrees. We made short movies and exchanged books. As life in Canada made us revolve in vicious circles, sometimes we were ahead of or behind each other. But wherever we were we never failed to occasionally catch up a movie or once in a while grab a beer to talk about the pointlessness of life or the brutality of capitalism. We helped each other financially during tough times. Eventually we completed our studies and I, at least for awhile, secured a job of my own and he secured his. After two years of relentless adventures, poverty, excitement, depression, happiness, sadness and indifference, he finally decided to move to a different country to pursue a better future. I travelled from Toronto to Montreal with him. We walked around the old Montreal and tapped the gates of the beautiful Notre Dame, one last time,  just as a tribute for our three days Montreal adventure, the previous year. Then I dropped him off at the airport, bid good bye. At the time of parting he shook my hands and said "It's been a pleasure doing business with you." At that point I realized that I have no idea when I'd see him again and also that he is right! It has been pleasure doing business with him! 

                                                                                                         

It's been a day now. I am sitting at the same coffee shop near my place where we used to sit, almost every day, over six hours, late at night time, applying for countless number of jobs through various different job sites. Finally at around 3 or 4 am, we'd walk down the empty road discussing movies, future, and life in general.

I am looking around me and there are lots of people. Some of them, I've seen before and I am almost certain that I'd see them tomorrow.  But some I've never seen before. Hundreds of people sitting and having coffee in groups, having conversations, some serious and some light ones, discussing about their jobs and promotions and difficulties of being a mom and dad and so on. While all of this is happening around  me, I can't stop but to constantly ask myself a few questions. I always had these bunch in my mind, but never bothered to try to find the answers. Maybe there's none?

What am I doing here?

I honestly don't know. Yes, I am trying to survive. Trying to pay my bills. Now that I'm living on my own, I feel like I should build a statue for my dad and mom and honor them as they've been doing this forever. They took care of me and my sister and struggled to pay the bills and they somehow managed to do it and they still are doing it. Trying to pay the bills and survive in this environment is a biggest accomplishment in itself. But still, is that what I'm supposed to be doing? I guess that's why I came to this country. In search of something that may or may not exist. I honestly don't know what that is!

What's my life about?

I always think that my life is a movie and it is playing out in front of me in which I'm the lead character, the  narrator. But what am I narrating? If my life is a book or a movie, I should be able to describe it right?

As someone asked me recently, 'What's your life's mission statement?' 

You know what my reply for that is? 'Uhhhh' that's it! 

He continued 'If a business deserves a mission statement, your life also deserves it. Because your life is larger and better than any business ever existed.' That is very true. But what is my mission statement? Should I find out? Should I have to define it? or can I just watch it unwind. It certainly is beautiful to watch it unwind. But I don't have a sense of control if it unwinds by itself.

I am just thinking out loud through words as I am sitting in this coffee shop, looking at all of these people being alone and being together, arriving and departing. I feel like my life is one of those strategy games. I am given few resources in my hand and I should make something out of it. What am I supposed to make out of my resources. I have a Project Management post graduate degree, a Mechanical Engineering bachelors degree. I am passionate about photography, movie making, writing stories, telling stories, making up stories as I go, observing everything around me, having inner monologues, being alone, being with certain people ... Are these my resources? If so, what should I make out of all this?

This is kind of a personal confession, but I had to do this. It has been two years since I had any inner peace. am filled with uncertainties, confusions, and questions.  Of course I have inner peace when I watch a movie, or find a new location to take pictures or when I write a new bizarre story. But I am most certain that those peaceful moments are the result of the diversion I create from all those questions and confusions. Underneath of it all, it is still there. I am at the point of my life where I constantly ask 'what's the point?'

Sometimes I feel like there's no point whatsoever. We, people are just imitating each other by going to jobs and getting married and having kids and retiring and dying. But at the end of the day, nobody knows what the fuck they're doing. It is all, one huge imitation cycle, that must've started somewhere when we as humans began to define things.

Being happy, might be the point. Doing something which makes me feel happy. What makes me feel happy and settled?  Many things make me feel happy but nothing makes me feel settled and grounded. Nothing as of now. But I've been trying to think of something to do which would make me feel settled.

I recently came across few people who did something with their life,  which is so different than an ordinary person's day to day actions. One person rented his forehead for a month as an advertising space and making a living out of it.

Another person sold his life, after a brutal divorce. Sold his life? How's that possible? His life package contains his home, his vehicles, his job, and a personal introduction to all of his friends and everyone he knew and teaching everything he knew. He then walked away from his life and started a new one.

I have so many possibilities as of now. From this very coffee shop moment onwards, I can do so many things that would take me in so many different directions and places. What should be my next move, regarding my career and my life in general? What should be the next thing to do after finishing this post, that might affect my life significantly?

Just thinking out loud!