I have a new home. I just transferred hours ago and here I am slouching on the barren floor without a bed or any other muebles. That’s how literally barren my room is. Surrounding me are the bulky travel bags packed with unwashed laundry, thick books, mattresses, shoes, and a life full of unwanted memories. I will start a new a life here while the world continues to turn around as people grieve and live in fear; while nature wretches the living.
I feel so convenient in this new place. My office is just a stone’s throw away, the train could be heard from the distance, the horns of the buses are like buzzing bees. This is a new chapter yet again and this will be repeated soon and over and over as I try to shape a life I don’t understand. As I try to shape a life I do not own.
Writing is Hard to Love (Confessions of a Composition Junkie) - Philbert Dy’s tweet made me think a bit. See, there’s something about “loving writing.” Ten years ago, I’d probably say that Mr. Dy is right. After all, I ...
2 months ago