It is very hard to fall in love with something and give yourself over to it completely. Why do I write? I pay attention to what came before and then I fast forward to a time when I sense people will come after me (when I am no longer here) who will survive their own possession of a third World War inside their minds more than anywhere else.
There is nothing lost in translation when coming home to the mock wife playing house, moving furniture around just for the sake of it. She is the one who is burning the pots that I have to wash but I wash those pots with a lot of hard work and love I am not coping because I am not the doctor. Because I am not the one who is fluent in the doctor’s language no matter how hard I try. How will I be able to benefit from wearing that white laboratory coat, stethoscope around the neck, with that particular bedside manner?
There is a popular myth being promulgated by some misguided professors inside academia, usually late-comers to academia, which needs to be explored and duly debunked and it is this: when academia engages in theoretical issues and neglects the commercialization of applied research it becomes the proverbial irrelevant “ivory tower” isolated from the everyday workaday world.