Every time unwanted smoke got into her hair, she irked. It was inevitable though, to be in the smoking zone and still hope to come out smelling of musk. Yet she wished, like desert sand wishing for a whiff of rainwater, to do away with it, be able to avoid it.
Her problem was, she was just being nice. And then people would take her for granted.
Adventure and experimentation were fine; she had her fair share of that. But what was embraced in the spirit of adventure, she refused to accept it as a habit. Every time she complained of the smoke - she was chided.
My way or the highway, that's how life always goes. There is no middle or quieter path. Succumb to killing smoke of nicotine, or go face the music of gasoline.
Highway maybe - would be a braver way to die.
3 comments:
yeah...
ALWAYS chose the highway in life...
thats wat i beleive in...
:-)
Like I asked some time ago, what is my way?
Now this is some food for thought! There can be a different perspective for looking issue though.
1.
Why should she be nice to those who are not nice to her? Is it impossible to not-be so nice?
2.
Is it necessary to engage herself for adventure either?
3.
Why would she complain of the smoke? Is it *that* difficult to leave the person alone? Why care for someone when that someone doesn't care for even oneself... forget others!
Ok ok... too much gyan. You are allowed to take a highway and bypass this comment. [Brave way to not to succumb to these philosophical, random, incoherent ramblings. :D]
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