Orlando Pulse Shooting

I received the news late Sunday evening. I did not cry. No tears were forthcoming. I only breathed. And then I rooted my face in my pillow like an animal.

The feelings were all working away inside, like a pressure cooker, but I didn't have either the words or the spiritual strength to express them. I was empty, in shock, detached. I wanted to howl and howl and howl. I needed to cry, shriek, mourn the senseless loss of innocent lives, but I didn't, I couldn't. Initially these feelings simmered away, waiting to release themselves through normal expression, until, thwarted, they eventually boiled over, resulting in anger and confusion.




Jord Wood Watches

JORD make watches for people who don't just have somewhere to be, they have somewhere to go.
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When I was a young boy my hopes and dreams for the future were as follows: I wanted to be a social worker in the mornings, to share my passion for helping, to positively impact other people's lives that needed saving. I wanted to be an architect in the afternoons, the artistic embodiment of buildings and their creative outlet appealed to me. I wanted to be a global popstar at night time, because I really liked S Club 7.

I wanted a mansion with fourteen en-suite bedrooms, plus a holiday home in a tranquil, exotic location for breaks when I required them, because I'd obviously have the financial luxury and security to do so. I imagined living anywhere in the world but Ireland, that I'd be this protagonist who'd occasionally show up in his home town and still be loved by all. I wanted everything, and more. It sounds silly now, but these were attainable goals at the time. I revelled in the idea of the future and all of its possibilities. I was disillusioned, but what eight year old isn't?


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