LiFe StoRiES

An elderly mother, whose children and grandchildren dote on her, their love wide enough to warm the coldest of hearts.

An abused maid, scared, frightened and lonely. Sleeping her hours away, hoping the monsters will let her go.

An old lady, stricken with pain. Unable to speak, she communicates her agony through her screaming and tears.

A young lady, having her brains fried for thinking too much. Friendless and family-less. Blankly staring at the ceiling while amnesia eats into her brains.

A grouchy old lady, scolding everyone she sees. Nothing anyone does for her is ever right.

Each of us, carrying our own stories... Like the snail carries its house on its back.

Descartes said, "Cogito, ergo sum."

dEliRiuM says, "Narro, ergo sum."

So are we only the stories that we tell, or are we more than the stories that we tell?