72

Maman died today.

The postcard came in the mail last night. I was asleep. I saw a man come in, however. He was dressed all in grey. He wore an off-tilted hat with a white ridge around the brim, and then he handed me the letter sealed with a gold wax seal. I thought it was a nice gesture as no one takes the time to put a nice seal on letters anymore. Without thinking, I responded with a “Thank You”, and the man drove away.

Afterwards, it struck me that I needn’t have said that. I had no reason to thank the delivery boy; he was probably getting paid to do it. I thought: how many more letters would he deliver that day? He reminded me of a fellow that I used to know; a friend, even, Raymond was to me. He lived a simple life. In the mornings, Raymond didn’t go out; it was only until the evening that he went out. He always had the company of a young girl, and he even told me one time that he couldn’t go on without them. He was unusual. Or was that Edward?

Regardless, the letter came to me – Maman had wanted that I see it. I peeled back the seal and peeked inside, but there was nothing in it. An empty envelope, inviting yet unsettling. Perhaps she had run out of time to fill it? Perhaps it was a message. A gift, even: hope. Maybe I could become somebody or do something as well. Without an interruption, I would have kept on going without a direction.

As soon as I had grasped these feelings, I began to feel drowsy again. I couldn’t fight back the sensation, so I began to think back to the man with the grey hat. He continued to go on doing his job; continued to go on working towards whatever it was that he was working towards, and went on despite fatigue or hunger. But his task, being so simple, so mundane, surely could not be significant. Rather, looking back down at the now open envelope, I began to feel disappointed. I thought that despite the white hope that Maman gave me, I would lack the ethic and would thus fail. I can’t fail.

I wish I could go on, but I must go to sleep now for the light is blinding.

http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/lost-in-translation-what-the-first-line-of-the-stranger-should-be

Flavors: Flowers, Medicinal, Peppermint

Preparation
200 °F / 93 °C 5 min, 0 sec 2 tsp 17 OZ / 500 ML
tantonino

In the style of Mersault, our boy of the sea and the sun himself, I tried to tackle understanding different ways of life and creating a unique purpose and thus meaning to one’s own life. Rather absurd, isn’t it?

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tantonino

In the style of Mersault, our boy of the sea and the sun himself, I tried to tackle understanding different ways of life and creating a unique purpose and thus meaning to one’s own life. Rather absurd, isn’t it?

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I don’t suffer from insanity, I enjoy every minute of it.

I am a 21 year old student at Georgia Tech studying Business and Computer Science. I enjoy working out, going to local coffee shops, playing board games, reading, and watching film. My brother is studying film in SoCal – you can find his work at my website url. He doesn’t know that I’ve included it, but I’m his biggest fan.

Ratings:

0-59: F
This tea fails me so! O how this does not suit me! A million sighs. Bleghch uchgh

60-69: D
Needs work, son. Not my cup of tea. Will not be trying again, but won’t knock it. Did not enjoy.

70-79: C
Alas! I see how others may enjoy this tea, but mine own taste buds have not come around to the party. Sully were my expectations to not have matched the profile of the tea. Just O.K.

80-89: B
Hey now! Not bad, I actually really like this tea! I did something right here. I must study this. Up my alley.

90-99: A
Goodness me! I love this tea, and I will be purchasing this again.

100: Super-A
Oh Sweet Buttercups! This tea is the belle of the ball! Ecstasy.

The World is all about you: you can fence yourselves in, but you cannot forever fence it out.

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