By my empty suitcase I sit. Blue or white, two pairs of sunglasses or three? The dilemmas lie in front of me, almost as momentous as the teetering towers of clothes now surrounding me, a moment set to determine the next two-month, if not the future of my entire life.
As any history professor will tell you, history is not random but a string of choices. What if Rosa parks had tripped on her skirt the way to the bus and never made that fateful ride?
Take Isadora Duncan, considered by many to be the creator of modern dance. Duncan's fondness for flowing scarves was the cause of her death when her silk scarf while still draped around her neck, became entangled around one of the vehicle's open-spoked wheels and rear axle, breaking her neck. If only she had just not worn that scarf…
And here I find myself, still alive, surrounded by the scarves and shirts, shoes and hats that to me can bring fame or fallow misfortune, death or life, and I ask myself again, blue or white?
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