I am too much of a sceptic to deny the possibility of anything
Thomas Henry Huxley
To commence writing, be it a text for a column, a letter to someone dear, an essay, or anything else for that matter, is the single most cumbersome (read: the most odious) work to me. On top of that, truth be told, I don’t even have any special experience with it.
I could begin this column with a little exhibition of a circle proper. Just for the fun’s sake. I couldn’t but begin this column by giving credit to both of my grandfathers without whom I wouldn’t be writing this today. At least I wouldn’t be writing something on this particular, agreed on, topic. There, the circle is closed!The first one, my paternal grandfather, never talked about anything beyond that which he conceived of as real, that is, anything beyond the tangible, everyday stuff such as the news, politics, economy, travel, etc. skeptical with words, he spoke little of things he couldn’t touch or explain. I might never know for sure how he felt deep inside, but I do know that he was the one who evoked in me a great curiosity. He did this by giving me a book for my birthday. It was “Mysteries” by Arthur C. Clarke.