In My Not-So-Humble Opinion

Each day is a blank page of a book.At it's very beginning, we wake up, and we write the words in it.We tend to live our days with minds as clear as a summer morning, and we look to the future with hope, like a sailor that looks at the horizon, for what is future if it's not hope, and what is the horizon if not the ultimate desire. We are programmed to balance our lives out, as is the universe, as are it's building blocks.Everything always moves towards chaos but tries to stay in balance, each Yin has it's Yang, each action provokes a similar or enhanced reaction, and make no mistake, whatever you do, good or bad, will come back to you, just like in a circle. This is a story of such a circle, and for what it's worth, it's a true story. In my senior year in high school, I just moved into the capital from abroad. It was a tough time for me, I did not know anybody, I did not know the city, I abandoned everything that I had hundreds of kilometers away, and I was...

Kids, I have never told you this story before. It's not a happy story.It might be a sad story, or maybe not. It's just life as it is. You see, back when I was younger, I was different. Hard to let anyone in, even harder to love someone.Your mother, however, broke that ice and found a way into my heart. It was a miracle that I cannot understand to this day, and I salute her for the courage she had to do so. Like all stories, this one had a colorful beginning, golden leaves in autumn, hot yellow sun in the summer, green grass in the spring and that clandestine beauty covered in white snow in the winter. It had all of that, and when did we lose the colors....I have no idea. At least I cannot remember, you should ask your mother about that, maybe she knows.After that, it was all grey, and by the end, it was a shitty brown, going towards black or a sort of a dark, bloody red. The moments we had were epic, like in a fairytale. The small faults - humane, understandable. The mi...

Once upon a time, in a kingdom placed so far away that almost everyone forgot it even existed, there was a storyteller.This storyteller was so good, that every story that he would tell would become reality. At first, when he was young, he was telling short stories, some of them were interesting, some of them were boring, but all of them were short, harmless. He needed to learn how to control his gift, he wanted to go slowly, experiment a bit, so he would tell stories about a small house in the forest, or about small floods of rivers in the mountains. Something that would ease his need to tell a story, and at the same time, be completely innocent. After a while, as he got older, he got bored, started telling stories about battles, mythical creatures, dragons with 3 heads, and as the time passed his attention to detail became bolder and more and more vivid. Slowly but surely, people started talking about this great storyteller who was able to create everything just by playing with w...

Wednesday, 11th of September 2013, 11:17 AM. Hannah posted another one of her photos on Instagram, and in matter of minutes she had hundreds of likes.Praising comments all over the place.She was the queen of social networks,three profiles on Facebook,thousands of followers on Twitter and Instagram and all this because of her staggering beauty."All of these people", she thought."They all adore me".She felt so loved, so desired, sitting there among her plush toys and shiny trinkets, staring at her laptop... she felt as being on the top of the world. She never got this much attention from her friends (whom she sees so rarely),and I mean....who needs them anyway? When she goes to work she has her colleagues for a meaningless compliment, or some empty human contact, which she despised from time to time, and from time to time it just didn't matter cause that, she thought, is for the best.The people who truly love her were online, always there for her. Mike and Ji...

He was a gun for hire.A gunslinger, if you will. He believed only in his Colt 45, a piece of cold, ruthless, calming steel. His name was Ronin. He never knew his parents, as he was found as a baby at the gates of a local cemetery in Tokio. That is how he got his name: Ronin - a lonely, masterless, samurai warrior, an outcast. A samurai became masterless from the death or fall of his master, or after the loss of his master's favor or privilege. So the gravedigger that found him, gave him that name, he thought it would be appropriate. And the way he was born was the way he lived his whole life: fighting and winning battles, one by one, all by himself. Ronin acquired an interesting set of skills as he was growing up in Japan, and his childhood was far from easy. Not being Japanese, but a pale, blue-eyed, prickly kid, didn't help. And the worse part of it: Ronin didn't care. He was always a foreigner, always not good enough for the group.....always Ronin. However, that lif...

A second passes, and the world is not the same any more. Second 1: Jack saw Jill for the first time in that moment,and he fell for her right then and right there,in the midst of Central Park in NY.It was one of those moments when a second seemed like a lifetime,and a lifetime it was. A drop of rain fell swiftly in a split of that same second and landed directly into Steve's right eye. Clumsily, he dropped a bouquet of flowers he was holding and at the same time he understood he will have to go to the florest again and get another one.It seemed that London would have another rainy day. The arrow went straight into the bulls-eye with a dull but very distinctive thud, precise and inevitable. Sun Yoo knew, in that same second, as soon as she has released the arrow, that the gold medal in the regional archery competition of Seul, S. Korea, will be hers. Second 2: Yvonne was watching down over the narrow streets of Montmartre. She remembered her mother and how she used ...

The mild chill of early winter and sporadic raindrops have their way of dancing you into your thoughts. Even though its chilly, as soon as you're in your head, you don't feel the cold anymore. Actually it's quite cozy. It feels like you're under control. That is how Greg felt that evening. He closed his eyes while feeling the vast emptiness in his chest, but the raindrops were poking him back to reality, urging him not to go there, not to dwell over the past. The view from his office balcony was nice, it was not astounding, but with just enough space to feel the city's breath beneath him. The red sky above him, a typical landscape of an urban jungle, painted by the orange street lights bleeding into the thick mist created from the smoke, dust and air humidity, once again seemed to him as if shielding the eyes of the city from a stellar event no one was supposed to see. Like a veil on all of our heads, at the same time protecting us, and smothering us, keeping us ...