Diary Jottings

…. and it dawns on me these days with marked frequency; not at all a boast but a thought clothed with simple fervour that I could go anywhere or do anything or write anything I desired for anyone or anything or anywhere. Really, who was there to stop me… And I could start again. Be startled, happy or surprised.

Saying which I would have done something  right for my solitary soul in having fled traditional encounters which shadowed Asian women in communal settings, willing for so long in earlier harder years… my artistic self only to escape into a realm with hidden wings. It is finally now on turning back to catch my shadow in a rushed hour that I witness my palaced hedonism carved from a street-wise architecture, given me by the Gods as a survival kit.

Now how about and why ever not if  I could playact having never before turned the pages to a book, climb a mountain, as if I had never once tasted the exhilaration of a slippery slide, watch a film while forgetting its end and cradle a melody as if violin strings had only just stumbled upon my serenading heart. And if now while self-contained and  devoid of negativity, I treated  my days as a virginal game, trusting its fate upon the roll of a restless, playful dice, what doubly fun.  And so I would once more plunge into the rest of the watchful year with a willing, breathless heart.

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