Life is progressing at a breakneck speed. As it mostly does, with the usual thirty-something's passion for work, and picking up delicatessens at the supermarket, impersonal conversations with friends about politics and the environment and car brands, skipping breakfast, catching a glimpse at the morning-newspaper muting the television late in the night, contemplating on starting a fitness regime, or saving up to buy a house, texting, emailing, and falling asleep with the cell phone by the bedside.
And when I helplessly listen to someone who is in pain, or I watch a movie that brings tears to my eyes, or I abruptly remember the people who taught me how to read a clock or fold my dresses and put them back neatly in the cupboard returning back from school, or as I see all the things that I plan to do in the remaining half of my life and I ask myself who really ever promised me the remaining half- everything, everything around, appears to slow down, as if for me to disembark, and get walking, at my own pace.
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