Most of my work is philosophical, abstract, and persuasive; others love and romance. My current works can be found at Medium (click 'Writing Works' below)

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The White Room with the Glass Ceiling

now playing: fruits by moomin

the inside tall walls were of only white color, distinct from the other rooms in the house. slick, bright, and clean. only two doors in the white room, with a ceiling made of only one large piece of pristine, spotless glass; connected with four strong metal supports to hold it up. it peaked to 125 degrees that day in south tucson arizona, not a cloud in the sky. around 12:15pm, the sun pelted slowly in the room; heating up to even the white color couldn’t stand. so hot, the two bronze handles on both doors started perspiring.

earlier that day, a group of snowbird tourists from canada took a long flight in to south tucson arizona; landed in town around seven in the morning. they wanted to visit this hotspot, to sight-see the magnificent view of the mountains just outside the city, the trembling hot weather; and of course, to take a walk through the house — to experience the white room with the glass ceiling. avid artists, creatives, they were tourists of spontaneity that lived for simple adventures. put simply, idealists.

the tour guide that led them up to the house spoke broken english, but just enough english for the tourists to understand. before the tour, he yacked on and on about the house, other random information about his own personal life, and said that when it struck noon; they would experience nothing like they ever have before.

the tourists were excited, and you could of just seen it in their eyes. a few giggles from a couple before entering the house, and a few whispers from others. they entered the room.

surprisingly, his broken english became fluent. the tour guide looked at them seriously and said, “now i want you all to close your eyes, and think of something in your life that has caused the most pain to you.” the tourists were hesitant at first, and not expecting this, but they all complied. “picture in your head that experience, that pain, and try to re-live that moment now” he said. as a minute or two went on, a few started to tear up; others gasped quietly in agony.

the clock struck noon. the room was scorching hot. before they all entered the room, the guide gave them each a pitcher of ice cold water to drink when they needed it. the tour guide then said, “open your eyes. now you all are, as i have researched, accomplished artists and entrepreneurs. every one of you came here for the wrong reason. you were expecting a vacation, an escape route out of your own lives. i am appalled at your selfishness and adventurous spirits to come here to visit the beauty of this area and the white room you are all in.”

the cries and quiet agonies from the tourists, thinking of their most painful moments, died down at the drop of a pin when the guide spoke those words. he then said, “you are all simple people living in a complex world. i have to say, i too was just like you, and your idealistic world that you dream of and act on.. even while so many of you are successful. folks, you came to the wrong room, the wrong place for your ideal expectations of even your own lives at the wrong time. i am sorry to break it to you, but please.. never ever step foot in this room again.”