The most important ingredient in cooking

 Patience...

Seven Sisters

They say life is hard. I say maybe not so much when you are surrounded by good friends. I met some great friends, when I was least expecting it, in a corporate setting.

I was a skeptic, a cynic to be more dramatic. They were genuine, never envious and ever welcoming. My constant companions for four years.

We bonded over common interests.. We shared our art, paintings, food, poems, songs, crafts and writings with each other.

I would rarely but surely go to them to bitch about someone who pissed me off  or to complain about the never ending worries of a corporate employee.

They would wait patiently until I finished my amusement park rides, even though they didn't want to get on the rides themselves.

I remember the 'This or That' game we used to play in break time, watching flock of birds flying in wonderful formations from the food court, the double rainbows we witnessed.. 

Cruising the city, attending food festivals, our evening walks around the campus.

With time , we knew we had to go our separate ways. Just when we were wondering where and how, the pandemic took care of it, which in hindsight was a good thing, because change is the only way.. Now its great to see all of us seizing new opportunities and moving forward. 

Thank you my sisters for your friendship, for listening to my bak bak, for bearing with my hangry avatar. Thank you for your stimulating company...

 I wish you all great success and happiness. we will meet again and make many more memories..

Until then....

Since in the dew of little things the heart finds its mornings and is refreshed (Khalil G.) 

To new friendships..

Busy Ageing

 🌠

Disclosure

Is it really possible to write something without giving yourself away?

One might say that the purpose of an opinion piece is to express yourself, and that essentially entails giving away a part of yourself.

To that I say, I am not concerned with what I am explicitly trying to say in the text, but with the unintentional underlying giveaway.

I complete a piece and re-read it and there it is, staring me in the face, things I had no intention of expressing and yet I have, as a subtext. 

This makes me wonder, if it is possible for any piece of writing to be completely independent of the author, even if it is a fictional piece?

A Fear

I had a fear that kept me up at night

That I would stay still

And life would pass by

So now it has come to this

For what is life, but time?

I am still, and the time passes by..

The waves

Book written in style of 'stream of consciousness'. More like filled with over thinking, over analyzing. It's beautiful in the start but then after 170 pages you just want to scream 'shut up already'. 

well Woolf's a genius... Maybe that's the problem.. a downside to genius, that they bear the burden of the non existent.

Inferno

Sets insides ablaze

Just stops short of skin