The egg-like bulb glows from the bottom of what looks like a porcelain-white bottle, hanging from the ceiling by a metal rod as thick as my little finger. Just beside it, tiny tubular lamps stretch across a hole dug into the grey, porous ceiling. The metal rod seems crooked. Perhaps it had expanded under the heat of the lamps, and then contracted, length undulating. Or perhaps, only under deceptive inter-play of light and shadow, it seems bent.
A person's character, at times, it evolves quickly to adapt under extreme circumstances. Some people, like the rod melting, lose their heads, showing their innate or previously unknown flaws; never to re-claim proper functions. On the other hand, the flaw may simply be non-existent, and is just a cocktail of external, uncontrollable elements that casts a shadowy doubt on our self-worth.
PS: Be like the rod - bent at most, not melted.
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