And they are created by irritating the very life out of their host too...

 It was September in the South, and we all had our heads on our desks.  We had just come from the cafeteria after having lunch and the room was sweltering but this was the time of the day when our 5th grade reading teacher, whose name now escapes me, read out loud to us while we sat quietly digesting and cooling off.  The book was "The Pearl" by John Steinbeck.  The droning box fans, placed strategically around the room, were competing with her voice but I could hear her just fine and even though I had just eaten, and it was so warm in that room, and I felt so lazy, I didn't close my eyes like some of my classmates because I didn't want to miss a word.  My family moved away in the middle of that school year, but I know how this book ends so I guess we finished it before my departure. I, like Kino, have had to throw some pearls back into the ocean on occasion.  It's not always an easy thing to do, especially if the pearl seems rare or especially pretty.  Sometimes pearls just aren't meant for us to keep.  Sometimes the prettiest ones may turn out to be the ones that cause us the most heartache, even if they seem perfectly lovely to look at.  Some pearls just belong to the vast ocean and were never meant to be worn around our necks.