16957000 a97299f122fbaa87d0628a8bd3647d12 mystafied http://gravatar.com/mystafied mystafied http://0.gravatar.com/avatar/a97299f122fbaa87d0628a8bd3647d12 http://0.gravatar.com/avatar/a97299f122fbaa87d0628a8bd3647d12 thumbnail mystafied Who am I? That is always the hardest question. I know what I am, but not who. Every one of the lovers I’ve known had asked about my career, my hobbies, my interests, etc., outside the nine-to-five treadmill of my life, but that’s not me, not my soul (assuming I have one). None had asked what is my favorite ice-cream? Who do I think Santa Claus voted for? Or did I know that it costs five cents to go to the moon if you believe it? When they asked me what I wanted to do with my life, I would arrogantly retort that I want to conquer the world. But these days I don’t – I love butterflies, so I have learned to live with the caterpillars. What am I? I am the guy that occupies my time in supermarket queues by studying the chocolate racks. I love the serenity of mountain tops but abhor the climb (why doesn’t Mt Everest have a chairlift?). I love timeless conversation but am very ambitious about getting enough sleep. There is someone for everyone but sometimes ‘anyone’ is not enough. I love intelligent people, but a degree can’t buy you happiness. I love negativity, especially when my car needs a jump start. Love is the only answer, but who ever asks that question these days? I have found happiness in a bowl of pasta, in a stranger’s generosity, in a lover’s kiss and in a cat’s purr. And I have an ego – it is black, runs on a short leash and is toilet trained.