Brooks and Broadways

Every Master was Once A Learner Months on end of searching for a source of income, job or freelance, while working on a series of small projects, I stumbled across a few really neat hacks for social interactions, especially on the smarter-than-thou-phone. And it so happened, a lot of job prospectus from the web , email, and self-discovered resume (which took 4 days to make, more on this sometime, maybe) caught a few eyes and got my number dialed (and at the most convenient hours with me in the most inconvenient conditions). And made the struggle really real! Never did I mess up a call (pro tip: you are almost always out of network) but it took a while for the converted calls to become an offer. Mostly freelance, and finally, a job. The funny part is, I am working in the same industry now which I was trying to make work for myself, Recruitment. (It's really hard to control the urge of hashtagging Throwback) Am not boasting, Steve is though! Source: Pinterest En

What makes me real? The question comes every time, every fucking time. Blurred lines like a shot of cocaine, cut down, ready to be ODed. The temptations it brings, to make a roll and sniff. Sniff motherfucker, sniff it up. You give in, someday you do and you lose. Lose everything into that soon to end trance, like the moments while drowning, when everything is blurred and there is no weight to carry and no direction to go. Then comes the moment, the moment of fucking truth. The moment when your blood is deprived of oxygen, and your brain tells you that. You have that urge to breath and you fight, holding on to the last of moments left to fight. A fight you are meant to lose, anytime soon and for only once. Then comes that spasm, and you lose, you lose your fucking life you were holding on to. A gush of water fills your voids not meant for it. Your every muscle, each and every single one reflexes for one last time and that is the last. It is then the drowning starts, not in