This was an assignment given to the new employees of my new employer. When  I was assigned this, the thought of writing this kind of put me on edge since I really wanted to write something that I actually felt but was afraid. But then if I wouldn’t have written it this way I would have lost a brilliant opportunity to write exactly how I felt to someone who would actually understand.

 No judgments. 


When I was in my third grade, I was thrown out of my art class. I was not just a bad student, I just failed to see our Art teacher’s perspective. He wanted me to draw what he drew on the board and I would do anything but that.
I ended up disliking (I said dislike, not hate) art and for that matter, anything to do with it, sketching, painting and studying art.
This is the part where, you might be pondering about the epic irony my life has fallen into, for I am an architect.
When I first encountered Architecture, I was in my eighth grade. My first cousin was doing something that was not engineering or something else that had nothing to do with commerce. She, what I was able to pick up at that time, studying how to make buildings and that was my way out, the door, where no calculus was involved and geometry was my favorite anyway.
Over the time that I studied Architecture, I realized that no matter what or how much ardent you are about this subject, you will have a love- hate relationship with it. You will love it when things are going your way and you will hate it and wish you never experienced it when you try to pull a night out.
I have hated it too, and those were the times I thought about my art class and thought, I knew what I was getting into, for Architecture is art. But even after all that, I keep coming back to it. I, for one, can tell you with personal experience that you cannot ignore, neglect and change your choice when it comes to Architecture. All you can do is take a hiatus and then soon enough you find yourself back at its door. Such is the impact of studying Architecture in a person’s life and that this affects a lot of what I expect out of this subject life.
I wouldn’t say that I expect world peace and women empowerment out of it; not that they are unattainable out of this but because I am far more selfish than that, or if I put it delicately, inclined towards self-development, first.
I believe, that if everybody thinks about the small, good things they can do in their life to make themselves happy, the world will become a better place quicker.
And for the sake of the same bliss, I expect Architecture not to be a cause of my despair and agony, mentally and physically. I expect it to be rewarding as it already is, with the greatest job satisfactions of all, watch lines on the paper become tangible. I expect it to give me the same respect and love that I have for this life as an architect, which I will not say I have chosen for me, but I have been blessed with. For I expect Architecture to be a cause of joy for everybody who has a part of it, like a piece of cake.
Since it has been a month that I joined this firm, I have realized that it has indirectly claimed to make me experience Architecture in a way I have never experienced before, with my interest in it, of course, I believe that it will be a perfect medium for me to make me able to deliver Architecture the way I want to and hence, I expect my employer to not only be strictly educating or imparting knowledge about this form of art, but also help me gather and prosper the wisdom of cultures through a variety of subjects which are designed to help me realize new grounds of creativity, to open the world to my mind and vice versa.


Heart’s a Mess

He saw her looking at him. He saw her again and she wasn’t, as she bowed her head and tried to vanish in the Monday morning crowd.

He got hold of her elbow and caught her off guard.

“Excuse me.”, a guy yelled camouflaged in the ocean of black suits.

He looked at her with an expression that bombarded her with questions of her actions and existence bringing her on the brink of tears and at that moment, he saw something on the fingers of her hands that held the startled guys hand tightly.

“Do you know him?”, the startled guy questioned her.

“No”, he replied. “I thought she was somebody that I used to know.”

Someone else’s “Umbrella”

It was about to rain.

He stood there holding his retrenchment letter and an umbrella. He had a Penny in his pocket and he knew he would have to walk all the way home.  He had nothing.

The vagabond stood there thinking, “If I gave him my Pound, will he give me the umbrella?”. He had nothing.