If the World Ends...

I am a man with no regrets. Generally speaking, in the moment I will do what I want without thinking of consequences. This isn't to be confused with the phenomena that is YOLO, these behaviours were well instilled within me before the uprise of the term. And I will not look back with regrets because anything I did, I wanted to do at the time, so why regret? And if it was something where I wasn't in control so didn't have the choice of whether I wanted to do it at all, why regret?

With that in mind, if the Mayan calendar was to be correct, I would have some regrets. Like the regrets of a dying man, my regrets would be of things that I did not do, as opposed to things I did do. The regrets of time escaping me.

So here it is, if the world was to come to an end on 21/12/12, the seven1 things I would regret not doing are as follows...

Broken Glass at Christmas

Come with me as I take you on a journey through the eyes of fictional character Abs Williams, of Nigerian descent (Abs being short for Abiola and the surname a result of colonisation) as he prepares for his 25th Christmas. 

An Unhealthy Obsession

All my life, I've noted in others, and at some stage most likely myself, a desire to retire early. If it wasn't retiring early, it was wanting to retire my mother early. In the more recent years of my life, I've steered well away from that notion, truly wanting to spent the rest of my breathing days writing.

Why do we as humans have such an obsession with retiring early? And why do so few of these obsessions materialise? I think I can answer the first question. It's sad to say but one of the key reasons why most do the jobs they do is because it pays. That could be paying: - the bills
- holidays
- nights out
- addictions
- children
- debts

The Stranger and His Son

Below is a short piece I wrote last year December. It had been intended for the website I was having built at the time but that has been indefinitely postponed. Nonetheless, being that time of year, here it is for your pleasure.

The Stranger and his son

There's a man who I have seen a few times in the Starbucks I go to to write. My guess would be that he is in his 50s or 60s. Having been here for the last two days, as well as seeing him on a number of previous occasions, I think it's safe to say he comes in here every day. I think its somewhat a routine for him. He comes in with his disabled son. I wouldn’t be able to tell you what kind of disability he has but to contextualise and help you to visualise (without hopefully coming across as ignorant) I would compare it to that of Stephen Hawkins, who has a motor neurone disease.