Life lesson

This is Steve Jobs' 2005 Stanford Commencement Address. He didn't know how deep his words would be, specially after his death. R.I.P



After watching this video, answer the following questions:

1. What can we learn from the three stories he tells?
2. What can we learn in general from his address?

Police statement.

Read the following police statement of a suspect of murder, taken at two different times, and answer the questions at the end of it.


“It’s hard to remember. It happened a long time ago. I… I am very tired. I can’t go on…
It was a windy evening. It was dark… dark and windy. I was wearing my brown cap, the one that my uncle gave me for my twenty-first birthday. It was my favorite one, all blue with my name written in maze. Yes, this was a really beautiful cap. But now, I hate it. The door was unlocked, as always. I saw a big silhouette behind the curtains. It must have been a guy, a big guy, I mean. He was this type of guy that people cannot forget. Soundless. Not… not a single sound. He was moving fast, from the kitchen to the backroom window… I thought he may have been a thief.
Hey, it’s weird. Such a big guy, stampeding through the house, without a single sound, not even the cracking of the floor. Jesus… this floor is really noisy. I told the landlord again and again to do something, but he always gave it a miss. Yeah, it’s weird.
So ... I get into the house. Slow, like a church mouse. My god, I was trembling with fear. My teeth could have been listened from the police station. It crossed my mind that they could break down from chattering. He was a big guy, I mean, fucking massive, man. He may still be around, maybe … armed! So… that was me, going upwards … slow, really slow. Not a sound, not a movement, but a weird smell. Something like pumpkin soup. Weird, man.
Then, I saw… saw her. Rachel. She still was in her nightie. Red. She was covered in r- … blood. I kneeled next to her. She may be alive. I touched her neck. My sweetie. I tried to get her back, but couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything. Now and again, came to my mind our good memories together. Man! This fucking fat bastard had killed my girlfriend. My sweetie. My Rachel.
Shit!
Damned!”
[…]

“It’s painful, don’t you know that? Of course, it’s not your life, just your job. Get the fuck!
Ok, it was a dark windy night. It was really chilly. Winter came earlier than other years. I was wearing a sweater and it wasn’t enough. I was kind of late to pick Rachel up, as always. Then I saw that silhouette, impressive, enormous big man. He was running to the kitchen when I got there. I got stuck. Not a movement. But I couldn’t hear anything. There was not a single sound, not even the floor. You know how much this type of floors crack. But no, he was making not a sound. And there I was, with my hand in the pocket, grabbing the front door keys. But I couldn’t move. I was terrified. He was like this kind of bouncers that make you shrink at the disco.
I tried to be brave, you know, and get into the house. I went upstairs, but I couldn’t hear a single sound. It was even more terrifying. Oh, man. There I was, going up the stairs only listening to my footsteps on the staircase. When I got to her room, I saw… Rachel. I… I rushed where she was. Blood. She was all covered in blood. I could only embrace her. My sweetie, she was… was d-… dead.”


What do you thing of the man's statement? Is he guilty or innocent? Why?

The story continues

This is where we left the story. Invent an end to the story

Saskia read Bradley’s letter and then she walked slowly into the kitchen.
Earlier that day she had bought his favorite food for dinner, now she threw it into the rubbish bin. Why did he do this to her? She remembered how happy they had been in the beginning. They laughted a lot then. Saskia felt desperate.
One hour later, the phone rang in the flat.
(Continue)

Amazon

She was totally conscious of her inheritance. She was the descendant of an old and very powerful family among the Amazons. One of her ancestors was the almighty Penthesilea. She could feel her blood and many other women-warriors like herself running abruptly through her veins, claiming for battle, desirous for being at war one more time.

She looked at the mirror of her room. She didn’t see her reflection, but the battle field in which Penthesilea and many other brave women of her tribe fought the Trojans. Anxious horses ready to gallop to encounter the massacre. Shining shields anticipating scarlet horror. Shouting swords foreseeing flesh and corpses, longing for being freed from the sheaths. Calm warriors enjoying the peace of what could be their last glorious day.

They knew they were different, they were the feared Amazons. The ones that cut off one breast so that they could shoot and throw spears more effectively. They were warriors and their task was to defeat the enemy.

This time, she saw herself in the mirror. She saw powerful hands that had fought through life, strong hips that had continued her clan one more generation. She saw the scar in her breast. Then, she was totally aware of her chore. This time, it wasn’t a battle but a duel. A long and perilous duel, but victory was on her side. She was going to beat cancer.