I have been writing for as long as I can remember; from my first pink Barbie diary to dreaming up plotlines with my brother, and that failed attempt at starting a newsletter in high school.
Do you ever look back at something you did in the past and cringe? Or remember the way you used to behave during a phase in your life and feel mortified?
I struggled to pull myself out of bed today morning. With daylight savings, my nights have become shorter and so waking up requires tones of dedication and a whole lot of alarms.
The view from my bedroom window is of these two beautiful trees. I moved into this room right at the end of a terrible winter, and I remember on my first morning here I was greeted by a view of low hanging branches and trees decked with pillows of snow.
I usually dedicate every last Sunday on my blog for stocktakings. I like to think of this as a space of returning to myself after giving bits and pieces of myself away during the 31 or so days of the month.
A couple of days ago, I celebrated my birthday. The night before the 20th of February, I tossed and turned between my sheets, butterflies flew up and down my tummy, and my heart raced with excitement.
The highlight of February has always been my birthday. I can gladly skip over all the roses and chocolate on Valentine’s day but give me a cake and candle to blow out once the 20throlls around.
Very few stories capture the “coming to America” experience; which I am learning is a rite of passage for every immigrant wanting to make it in the Land of the free and home for the brave.