At my previous job, something very important was sucked out of me: My
will to write. I stopped regularly updating this blog a long time ago,
but I still wrote. For myself. In little leather-bound notebooks that
nobody has seen. But in the two years I worked at the old place, I
slowly gave it up. Days passed in a blur of odd hours and all the daily
nonsense that bogged me down. Even on the odd day I was off, I chose to
do other things. I saw things that made me want to write but I didn't.
Instead I kept it locked tightly inside me.
But now that I'm here. A place that I feel happier and much freer in. Where I can be me. And I can be creative and dizzy and forgetful. Where I can earnestly talk to people about where they're from. And listen to them talk about their cities and their countries. And I tell them, eyes shining, about India and my Bombay. And how much I love it. At my new job. I feel the urge to write again. I write in the new book bound with gilt-edged pages again. And I will write on this blog again. Because lately I have so many stories and memories that I want to put down here.
I want to tell you of my travels. Of Bahrain. Of a city torn in two. Of the F1 race there and the fear and anxiety behind it and the lavishness and the hospitality. I want to tell you of how I met Jenson Button and was awestruck at how beautiful he is. And how he talks and laughs and takes time out. I want to tell you of the friend who when I told I was going to the Bahrain Grand Prix told me, "If you meet Jenson Button, just you know, kidnap him or something." And I want to tell you how close I came to actually doing that. I want to tell you of Singapore and a cruise liner. Of sitting out in the balcony on Deck 9 at 3 AM as the ship sailed through the Straits of Johor, listening to Kate Voegele sing 'It's Only Life' on the iPod and staring up at the star-filled night as. I want to tell you of Universal Studios and the disgusting amount of popcorn ingested. Of the Transformers Ride and embarrassing moments.
I want to tell you of the letters I've begun writing to friends again. Of the joy that comes from watching my handwriting meandering its way across bright orange sheets of paper. Of sealing Raspberry Red envelopes and licking on stamps.
Slowly, I've rediscovered my love for writing. And its beautiful.
But now that I'm here. A place that I feel happier and much freer in. Where I can be me. And I can be creative and dizzy and forgetful. Where I can earnestly talk to people about where they're from. And listen to them talk about their cities and their countries. And I tell them, eyes shining, about India and my Bombay. And how much I love it. At my new job. I feel the urge to write again. I write in the new book bound with gilt-edged pages again. And I will write on this blog again. Because lately I have so many stories and memories that I want to put down here.
I want to tell you of my travels. Of Bahrain. Of a city torn in two. Of the F1 race there and the fear and anxiety behind it and the lavishness and the hospitality. I want to tell you of how I met Jenson Button and was awestruck at how beautiful he is. And how he talks and laughs and takes time out. I want to tell you of the friend who when I told I was going to the Bahrain Grand Prix told me, "If you meet Jenson Button, just you know, kidnap him or something." And I want to tell you how close I came to actually doing that. I want to tell you of Singapore and a cruise liner. Of sitting out in the balcony on Deck 9 at 3 AM as the ship sailed through the Straits of Johor, listening to Kate Voegele sing 'It's Only Life' on the iPod and staring up at the star-filled night as. I want to tell you of Universal Studios and the disgusting amount of popcorn ingested. Of the Transformers Ride and embarrassing moments.
I want to tell you of the letters I've begun writing to friends again. Of the joy that comes from watching my handwriting meandering its way across bright orange sheets of paper. Of sealing Raspberry Red envelopes and licking on stamps.
Slowly, I've rediscovered my love for writing. And its beautiful.
"We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection."
Anais Nin
Anais Nin
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