Dealing with the illusions of comfort

Perhaps we mistake the brief moments of bliss that grace us every now and then for contentment.

If there is a season for being unemployed, then it has to be winter. The realisation first struck me when I was in my first year of high school, right before one of the Sunday morning accounting classes that would start at 8:45. Between the hours of breakfast and the class, there’d be an assembly, a formal and pointless affair where the head teacher would read notices and highlight mischiefs carried out by students. And in between the assembly and the class, there’d roughly be a fifteen-minute window of which it would take, on average, about five minutes to pack books and another five to get to the classroom.