Into the World:
The Random Thoughts in My Mind

The smell of the ooze being squeezed out of the massive lump on my face was simply nauseating. The milky yellow juices of the oil gland, trapped in a bubble for more than two weeks, burst out when the doctor's knife slashed across the soft lump. The whole scenario, even with painful local anesthesia that took away all sense of pain, still was discomforting enough to make me cringe, frown, and pinch myself just to have my attention transferred to self-induced pain from the discomfort. My face turned sharply white, and the mental toughness I am so proud of suddenly became completely nullified. And the doctor was not done. "To stop further infection," he calmly and nonchalantly mentioned, "we need to cover the cut with some anti-infection liquid." What appeared was a a foot-and-a-half-long piece of surgical tape soaked in a purple liquid. He proceeded to shove the tape, bit by bit, into the empty space left behind by the squeezed out pus. Slide in, twist, s...

As the tower clock far away far far away struck 11am, and began its eleven loud chimes echoing across the city, a dead silence blanketed the elementary school next door to my dorm. The young kids, usually shouting and screaming as they run around the courtyard with their friends, stood motionless in formations with their eyes to the ground, not uttering a single word. Traffic around the school stopped, and everyone had their badges of red poppy flowers quietly flapped to the cold autumn winds. It is as if the entire community flashed back to that day in 1918 ending of the bloodiest conflict in human history. For many, the collective mourning marking Remembrance Day is not simply a tradition or something that is normally done, but much more personal. Millions of young men, from a nation not so populous, fell in the battlefronts of France and Germany. Every person mourning may think back to a distant relative, an uncle, or even a grandfather who suffered directly from participation ...

As the night falls on another Saturday night, the British metropolis was by all means ready for another night of inebriated euphoria. Just give the crowd an excuse to gather, and gather, they certainly did. Perhaps when Guy Fawkes got caught more than four centuries ago on the night of November 5th, 1605, he (or those loyalists who celebrated the foiling of the attempt on the life of King James I and the parliamentarians) could have imagined the event's annual celebration becoming a sheer mayhem of singing, burning colors, and of course, tons and tons of alcohol. And when the celebrations happen to fall on a weekend (as is the case this year), the energy and turnout just becomes unstoppable. In just one instance, despite its rather dubious reputation for being an East London neighborhood , the normally quiet bedroom community of Bethnal Green still received a horde of hundreds from across London to see a 15-min firework show in the local park. It is hard to imagine what the res...