Grab it .. Opportunity._Faronucci_Manure_Mama's Lesson
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Grab it .. Opportunity.
Don’t wait for the right opportunity, create it.People seek each opportunity for themselves that is appropriate for them. Someone studies in the faculty he or she likes to have a job for his or her life. But someone has a dream of helping others while doing the things he or she is passionate about. This happened to Tin as well who studied in the faculty of communication arts, majoring in advertising, and had a chance to work in a marketing research company as a transcriber. She had a chance to know about many marketing and advertising idea. Then, she applied for the job as a creative officer i...
Faronucci
You’d think that the most important days of your lives would be earmarked on a calendar from the time you were borwww.onedoor.ccn to serve as a reminder to get up in the morning so you didn’t miss it. Or at least sit there as a warning for you to prepare yourself for.Funny thing though, my day didn’t start off as extraordinary, just ordinary really, with an extra bit of boredom thrown in. I was at Constance de Clare’s Halloween party ,which was basically just twenty-year-olds in skimpy clothes and a lot of booze.My roommate had dragged me here, listing the cool people that would be attending, the models an...
Manure
It’s been a long week full of work. But it’s Friday, and I’m going to take my coffee and my book and go sit out back in my porch swing and read before we start this day. I only have a few minutes, really, but it’s a crisp early spring morning and it feels so nice after this long winter. Texas springs do not last long. I should take advantage while I can. I grab my book, my reading glasses and my spring-borne renewed sense of hope and head out to the back. As I sit down, I can hear, floating on the spring-warmed air, faint sounds of the band’s drumline coming from the high school. I sit two mi...
Mama's Lesson
I uncovered the box, and the drive to declutter my parent’s basement evaporated. Tucked under the stairs of my parent’s home, the box’s white surface bore my name in English.HANAEMama’s beautiful handwriting had changed very little since she had made this mark. Pulling it open, I was transported to another place and time, when my hands had lifted this lid and beheld the same treasures they did now. I marveled at the faded green sweater sitting at the top of the clothes inside, the first that Mama had ever made for me.We lived tucked away in the attic of Papa’s two-bedroom childhood home. After...