One Hundred .....
One hundred is a magical number, it seems. A newly inaugurated American president has 100 days to make his mark. A hundred years constitute a century. With one hundred dollars in my pocket, hey, I feel rich. Then yesterday, someone at the writers club remarked: "If you want to be a writer, put down at least 100 words per day."
Writing one hundred words is not a big deal to me. I can ramble on endlessly. But a hundred words per day, every day, that will be a challenge. You see, I do not write for a living, and words alone do not justify my existence in anybody's eyes but God. I need more than words on papers to keep my household going - food on the table, laundry washed and folded, lessons planned for kids and delivered. I found out soon enough to have no illusion about my passionate occupation; the only written words people appreciate are the ones on the dollar bills. Yet, at the rate our economy is going, even "in God we trust", does not convey much meaning. Someone must have blundered initially at the Bureau of Engraving and Printing, and had introduced a typo that was too late to revoke. I believe the intended words were "In Gold we trust".
Or was it intentional? Perhaps our Founding Fathers had known long ago that at the rate we are going pursuing Capitalism and the free wheeling markets, we would end up with nothing in our coffers but the trust in God to save us from our final bankruptcy. We may have a hundred good intentions when we designed our economy around the basis of competition and self-regulation, but now looking back we started to question: "Was it the cause of our hundreds problem?"
In my house hung a plaque: "A hundred years from now, it will not matter what my bank account was, the sort of house I lived in, or the kind of car I drove...but the world may be different because I was important in the life of a child.” These words by Forest E. Witcraft have been the inspiration for me to devote my life to my children. However, as the children grow and need more space for personal development, I quite felt that the hundred percent attention that I gave them may become too suffocating. It is time to step back, and return to my core passion: writing. Would a hundred words be sufficient to spell out my need to express myself and my search for meanings in this earthly life?
It turns out that one hundred is only the beginning, the first breakthrough of the mental waves .... After that, the clumsy fingers trail far behind the thought surge, while hundreds of ideas spill forth, colliding onto each other waiting to be rearranged onto the screen.
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