You get to design your own planet: tell us all about your planet — the weather, the seasons, the inhabitants. Go.

My planet would have an agreeable weather, a microclimate with glorious summer and mild winter. No strong typhoons or earthquakes and monsoons are unheard of, there will be no hurricanes either. It has no holes in ozone layer, the nature is still intact, no nuclear energy and electronic devices. There will be no urban jungles and overpopulation. My planet will have a harmonious relationship between people and nature.

It would be something like John Lennon was talking about in “Imagine” a place where there is no religion or hunger, where social differences don’t exist and everyone is equal. A while ago I wrote something like this: 

Will it be wonderful to wake up in a world devoid of color? Where everyone has the same skin tone? Then probably equality would become a reality, peace will not be some kind of a far-off dream and we can finally live in a harmonious society where power and material gain are not the main motivation for every action taken and racism is unheard of. It’s a tall order but_

I still wish for it…



Give And Take

She looks at him from the corner of her eye. She could see he’s wearing his familiar expression, the one which reminds her of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. She could be wrong of course but that’s how she feels.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, arranging the sheets around his naked body.

“Again?”  She said raising one eyebrow.

“What you want me to say?”

“Do I have to hold your hands during this conversation as well? I’m tired of you, of everything; I really am.”

“I said sorry already, what more I can do?” Then he starts crying. She feels anger rising from the pit of her stomach to her throat threatening to suffocate her.

“That’s fucking emotional blackmail!   For once, act like a man for crying out loud! You cannot say sorry every time you messed up. It’s the easiest thing to do, apologize and do it all over again. How can you forgive someone for stepping on your toes when the whole time he’s saying sorry he’s standing on it?”

“What you want me to do?”

“Divorce me.”


She’s expecting the retort. How many times they have been in this situation? She lost counts already. Always the same discussion, always the same outcome.

“Look, I’ve given you enough time and space; I cannot spend the rest of my life re-educating and bringing you up. I’m not your mother.”

“I’m learning. Ten years ago I didn’t even know I have a problem.”

“Ten years ago? Do you have an idea of how long that is? How much did it cost me? You cannot ask someone to live and breathe for you, it’s unfair. Contrary to your belief, the world does not revolve around you. I cannot sit back and wait for you to grow up. I have my own life to think about. Whatever left of it.”

“I’m trying. Can’t you see that?”

You will never get it, do you? Trying to make you understand is like chewing bricks. You’re learning alright, like a kid that has to be told to get out of the bed, he will sit there daze waiting for the next command. Today he will learn to swing his legs out the bed, tomorrow, he will be told to plant his feet on the floor, the next day to walk to the door, the day after the next to put his hand around the doorknob. By the time you’re out of the goddamn room, I will be dead and buried!”

“You’re only angry because it didn’t work today.” He said sulking. Suddenly, she has enough and jumps out of the bed.

“How dare you to say that!” If I will be angry every time that doesn’t work, then I will spend most of my days being angry. You know it’s more than that. It didn’t work today or any other time it didn’t work because with you, in every aspect, it’s your way or the highway. Most people would not believe that because you seem submissive. If they only know… no, it doesn’t work every time you don’t get what you want. Is it because I suggested another position, instead of that boring one you always preferred? Not everyone is fond of that long and slow approach leading to nowhere. Some of us want the real thing, not a school-boy-first-time experience sort of thing. How old are you anyway?”

“You mean you never like it? It works sometimes, doesn’t it? But I guess those are not counted.”

“If what you implying is sometimes you manage to be there for few seconds without moving, I guess it works then. But unlike you I can compare, and believe you me, there is a vast difference. Your general attitude towards romance and especially about this not to mention everything else in between is… how I could put it… like going to a restaurant with a purpose of__ what else? Eating of course! You will sit there half-dazed reading the menu to me thinking by doing so I could automatically taste the food and satisfy my hunger. What an idea!”

“I give you cards, I wrote poems for you. Didn’t you see them? I hang it in the toilet so you can read them first thing in the morning. But it’s not enough I know. I cannot row a boat; I can’t strum a guitar or sing, play basketball or stay awake the whole night. I cannot do those things!” he starts crying again, banging his head against the headboard. Once he resolved to this manner, she often doesn’t know if she’s going to pity him or be mad.

She’s about to open her mouth to say more but she decided not to. It is quite evident with his retort/outburst whenever she mentions initiative and passion (and growing up) that they are not speaking the same language, or not in the same wavelength; she doubt if they are even sharing the same planet. He would always be in tears and scandalized whenever they have this situation. He even threatened to jump over a bridge the last time they’ve quarreled. She gathers her clothes and heads out the door.

“If you ever leave me, I will spend the rest of my days trying to get you back!” He shouted.

She looks at him dumbfounded; frantically (hopelessly) searching for words to make him realize that all that she wants is: for him to put (his) theories into practice. As simple as that.

But as simple as it may seem, that concept he cannot and will never grasp. Experience taught her that. She grabs the car key and her purse from the dressing table and slams the door on her way out. Time to play Evita. Another suitcase in another hall…