Confession of the man And I have bad habits. As a book worm, I usually keep asking and questioning, interrogating myself against the moral and theoretical stands of the books I read. I keep asking what am I doing, what should I do to improve it. I am a worrier in the essence of the term itself. Yes, I am grand worrier. I worry till the dawn gets lit and the day get dark.  I worry for the challenges I have and for the possible challenges that could happen. And I worry for things I don’t know and for things I can’t explain. I worry. I am also critical. My detailing mind does not politely ignore the tiny drop of black mark at the edge of the white shirt or it won’t disregard the misalignment of a single thread in colleague’s coat. I criticize how big Suzan’s glass is in…