What would you do if you accidentally collided into a fellow competitor in the most important race of your life? Get up as quickly as possible and try to make up for lost time? Or stop and help your fellow competitor up?
The words “death knock” is enough to make my knees go weak and my hands go clammy. A “death knock” involves a journalist showing up on the doorstep of a family who has just lost a loved one for a story.
I rolled my eyes when I read the news that Taylor Swift and Tom Hiddleston are an item. “Wait, what? Didn’t she just break up with Calvin Harris like yesterday?” I thought as I scrolled through the story.
“I can’t believe she’s having sex with him. I mean, she attends church. I don’t get it,” my friend said, puzzled.
My dad was a banker and he loved to dole out financial advice, such as “buy what you need”, “don’t spend more than you have to” and “save for a rainy day”. For him, financial independence was about having enough in your bank account so you could stand on your own two feet.
My boyfriend broke up with me in the last week of the last term of journalism school and it was ugly. I received his text message on a Sunday evening, and I spent a better part of the night crying over the phone to my best friend.
I’m a real prude when it comes to sex, and my belief hasn’t come without costs. Friends and acquaintances have been known to give me strange looks when they learn about it.
Every year, I make the same resolutions, and every year, I fail to carry them out. So my resolution for 2016 is: stick to my resolutions. Nonetheless, my failure to abide by my resolutions has not stopped me from saying this prayer this year.
For years, I dreaded Christmas and the social gatherings that came with it. While my friends and colleagues looked forward excitedly to exchanging presents and spending time with friends, I hated the idea of attending awkward barbecues with strangers.