Slow dance
Last week, I did some cleanings at the office. Well, it is better now but I still would not say that my cubicle is so clean and neat 
While I’m going through some of Rival’s stuffs, the previous inhabitant of the cubicle, I found a really nice poem, written by a dying little girl somewhere in New York. I was impressed by the clarity and the simplicity yet so meaningful of the writings. It’s the fourth paragraph of the poem….
When you ran so fast to get somewhere
You miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry through your day,
It is like an unopened gift…. thrown away.
Life is not a race.
Do take it slower.
Hear the music.
Before the song is over..
