These writings were the result of the very innovative students of the 2015-2016 batch and the humanities class which stimulated their creativeness. The topic that we decided on was ‘the autobiography of a myocardial fibre’.
When it was announced in class, there was the usual mixture of emotions. Some people loved the idea while others denied the ability to write anything on the topic. I told them to think of the birth, life and type of work that a myocardial fibre does and write about it in their own way. Right after I gave them the general idea they all were so involved in writing, I had never heard the class so quiet before, everyone was busy writing. Some of them did use the internet for further inspiration.
When I read the articles, I had a hard time selecting the articles to give for PIMScope since everyone had their own unique views and each of them had a unique style of writing.
By Dr Manjari
Simeon E. :
Good morning friends! My name is Zuduko, but people call me myocardial fibre on the basis of my character and the place I live in. To say something about me, I am a member of a family called “muscles”, but I am the very special one in my family. You can find me in only one organ in the entire human body whereas the others in my family are spread from head to toe. My family members are usually controlled by higher authorities but I’m free and no one controls me. I am a pretty hard working person. I work day and night but the others in my family are lazy and they work only when they are commanded to and become tired if they are pushed too hard. I am not like them, I never get tired and I get a continuous food supply from my delivery trucks called the coronary arteries. They give me unlimited food to keep me working all day so that ‘the boss’ can supply food to the rest of the body.
Sometimes my boss becomes suicidal and they start taking a lot of junk food which throws spikes in the way of the delivery truck making the arrival of my food very much delayed. Please take this information to my boss so that he can take measures against this so that my food comes on time and I can do my job well, because without me my boss can’t survive. Remember, I love food, I am always hungry and please do me this favour and save my boss.
Hello everyone! It’s me, myocardial fibre! Now I am going to tell you about my life story. I was first born as a very cute little fibre with very good height. Inside a very dark space (uterus) surrounded by sea (amniotic fluid). Slowly I had so many brothers and sisters accompanying me. I along with all my brothers and my sisters were building a new house called the heart. We made walls separating our house into four rooms. One fine day our house started pumping. Then the world started revolving. It was so much fun. Then one fine day I saw a new light, new blood started pouring in. That was when I knew that I became old and started my job as a pumping machine. I worked tirelessly and as a benefit of it I got so much food and water. My brother, sisters and I started being a happy family and worked together in unity.
One fine day, one part of my house’s wall did not receive any food and water. They starved and died. My world started shouting. Since some of my brothers and sisters were about to die, the rest of us had to do extra work of pumping the blood. Just as they were about to die, a wire came through and cleared way for food for my brothers and sisters. Then my family came back to the normal health and then we started working again together in unity and strength. Thanks to God whoever put that wire in!! I hope you like my life story.
I pray to almighty that you and your family also live a healthy and happy life like my family, helping each other during the ups and downs of life.
Pump, pump, pump,
Hey, I am myocardium.
Huffy, buffy, richly fed,
Servant to my master – It is said.
Born to work – Day and night,
Never had rest, not even slight
Cannot stop to feel the breeze,
Cannot risk his life or hill freeze
A part of me if turns black,
My master slips off the plank.
Cannot love fibrin more – or I’ll be dead
Appearing like butter and bread
This was my story – pump, pump, pump
Hey! I am myocardium!