Stories need a roof over their heads too
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away there was this charming prince who –
(cue vinyl record rewind sound effect)
Hate to disappoint, but today’s not a day for princes charming saving damsels in distress. Instead, I have a think piece on something that is very dear to me and occupies a lot of my time these days. Languages. More specifically, I’ve a few thoughts on the business of languages. Funny story, actually, how I wound up in it.
Dear Visitor,
It’s been a while, since last we met. You showed up unexpectedly, as you usually do. I’ve come to expect no less from you – your arrival unannounced, no heads-up you’re on your way, then a knock on the door in the middle of the night. For some reason, you never stick around for too long. Perhaps it’s the nights which are too short. Come morning, I can barely recall you came. Your passage is but a fading memory. I wake up wishing perhaps next time it’ll last longer.
I haven’t been spending much time with video games lately. That’s what not having an internet connection at your new home in this age for well over a month does to you (though I’ve certainly been busy with a bajillion other things). I’m itching for a good long playing session, just me, my gaming rig and whatever mob needs kicking its ass or world needs saving. This extended hiatus got me thinking what is it about games that has turned them part and parcel of our lives?
The road goes ever on, that’s how the song goes. Now, I don’t know about you, but I often wonder at its destination. I’m frequently (daily?) asking myself whether I’m on the right track at all. But that’s probably just me, indulging in too much introspection.
I have been meaning to write this for a while now. But, like when you’re about to tell your girlfriend it ain’t working anymore and it’s time to go your separate ways, it hasn’t been as effortless to put pen to paper this time around. Turns out, some ends are just as difficult as starting something new. I need to get this out of the way though and just say it: Paris, I love you.
My dad was an architect. I asked him once, what he liked most about his passion (because for him it never was just a job, but a calling really). Without too much hesitation, he said he liked the straight lines.