The wonderous Kingdom of Sterilizia

Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.
Welcome to the Kingdom of Sterilizia, where, for most citizens, cleanliness truly is next to godliness.

Every morning begins with a grand ritual of sterilization. At dawn, the faithful rise, don their holy biohazard suits, and endeavor to disinfect every inch of their homes. The ritual would be incomplete without scrubbing the ceilings, for in Sterilizia, even gravity cannot be trusted to repel those innocent-looking buggers.

The Cleanse Wardens are the elite guardians who uphold the kingdom’s immaculate standards. Clad in antiseptic armor, they patrol the streets equipped with germ detectors and won’t hesitate to summon the Sanitizer Swat Brigade at the first sign of perceived contamination.

In Sterilizia, harboring and abetting dirt is considered a very grave transgression. Offenders (like me) risk being exiled to Filthoria—a realm where grime reigns supreme, and yet, astonishingly, life still flourishes. Filthorians seem to embrace untidiness and appear largely unaffected by it.

The annals of Sterilizia are rich with legends of cleanliness. The most revered among them is the tale of Sir Sanitizealot, who vanquished the Dust Dragon using an array of sophisticated cleaning weapons. His heroic deeds are celebrated annually in a grand festival dedicated to promoting cleanliness.

But as you leave the extra-clean kingdom of Sterilizia, remember: a little dirt never hurt anyone. Relax and let the little Dustbuggers roam free for a while longer. Embrace life’s messiness and find a balance between cleanliness and a touch of laissez-faire.

After all, it’s not the germs we’ve conquered that matter, but the memories—whether dirty or clean—we’ve created along the way.

Now repeat after me: “I shall not be afraid of dust and shall try my best to commiserate with the wretched sinners who live among us. Amen!”

Alain

A short trip into outer space

Sooner or later, alas, we will all have to go under the knife. Regardless of status or wealth, at some point, a part of our body will malfunction and require attention. Unfortunately, our precious body doesn’t come with a lifetime warranty, and eventually, we will all have to visit the “repair shop” to replace or fix a defective part.

Few of us ever consider that our bodies consist of countless invisible parts. Like faithful servants, they carry out our wishes without hesitation, without question, without complaint. You don’t need to instruct them—they simply know what to do.

But what happens when one of these staunch allies suddenly refuses to work? The experience is both shocking and frustrating, akin to the betrayal of a trusted friend or lover.

Two days ago, I found myself in the hospital for some minor surgery. Perhaps due to legal precautions, the hospital staff meticulously documented every detail about me and the upcoming procedure.

A few minutes before surgery, as I lay in a small hospital bed, a serious-looking nurse conducted a thorough interview. “What is your name? When were you born? What do you eat? What do you drink? Do you smoke? Do you have any implants?”

Strangely, this interview reminded me of a “speed dating” show I had once watched. In this game, you spend five or ten minutes with a potential partner to determine compatibility. Based on my answers, it seemed the nurse and I were a perfect match—ready to tie the knot.

Then, after sticking a multitude of needles and tubes into my unwilling body, somebody placed a mask over my face and sent me flying on a short journey to outer space.

A few hours later, as I slowly resurfaced from my spatial flight, I realized something was off. I couldn’t feel my right hand or fingers. The sensation-or, or rather, the complete lack of it—was so unnatural that it took me a few moments to grasp what was happening.

I was born right-handed, and for my entire life, I unconsciously relied on my right hand for almost every task. It had always been my dominant side—strong, dependable, and never failing me. Then, suddenly, out of the blue, it was as if my right hand no longer existed. When I tried to touch it with my left hand, there was nothing—no sensation at all.

My left hand had always had it easy, playing a supporting role while my right hand handled anything intricate or precise. And now, to my utter frustration, my right arm and hand were useless. I had no choice but to delegate everything to my left hand. Try eating with your non-dominant hand when you’ve spent a lifetime using the other—it’s not impossible, but it certainly feels awkward.

Fortunately, this incapacity didn’t last as long as my previous failed attempt. After two days of near powerlessness, my right hand is finally starting to recover. It can once again work in harmony with my left, and vice versa.

To touch is akin to a kiss—one of the most profound sensations a living being can experience. Without touching, you can live but not exist.

Alain

Friends are the family you choose

What do you consider your most valuable assets—the things you couldn’t possibly live without? Your mansion? Your yacht? Your sleek electric car? Your family?

Surprisingly, the answer is likely none of these. Often overlooked, your most precious assets are your friends—those who stand by you and offer support… sometimes without even realizing the significance of their presence.

Unlike family, friends are the people we choose, and who choose us in return. There are no unwritten obligations, no inheritance disputes—just a bond freely formed. As the Chinese philosopher Mencius said long ago, Friends are the siblings God never gave us.”

Friendship is built on generosity and understanding. It flourishes through thoughtfulness and mutual support. It is a cousin of love—without the spark and fragility.

In today’s fast-paced world, maintaining friendships can be challenging. As the French saying goes, « Les petits cadeaux entretiennent l’amitié »—small gestures of generosity nurture friendship.

Friends are especially welcome after retirement when you re-enter planet Earth after what felt like a long voyage through outer space. They are there to welcome you, easing your transition into a slower, more grounded way of life. They are like buoys, steadying you as you splash down into a new reality.

Yet, staying connected after retirement isn’t always easy. You must make a genuine effort to reach out to those who, like you, might feel a little disoriented after leaving their workplace.

I regularly have a cup of coffee at a nearby café, whether alone or with company, and I could not help but notice the regulars. The same gray-haired people gather almost daily in the same spot, chatting and celebrating life. It’s a far better way to age than spending hours alone in front of the television.

Being surrounded by friends is like living under the shelter of a benevolent force. The rain may fall, but it will never soak through.

So, if you’re feeling bored, don’t ever hesitate to call a friend for a cup of coffee. And it’s far more valuable to have a few meaningful relationships than a large number of superficial ones.

Get out of your lair and schmooze!

Alain