Sometime ago, I invested in a shiny new Cross fountain pen and bought myself one of those Odel books that were made from recycled elephant dung. It really was an ethereal experience, writing down all your life experiences in the middle of the night. Nothing really compares to writing down your thoughts and feelings. Consider it catharsis. Consider it entertainment. For me, it has been all those things and much more.

I really can’t imagine a world without writing or reading. It forms the basis of my being. It is, after all, the way I live. What really is the point in living if you cannot express yourself? Yet it is not only about expression but also remembering. Trust me on this, the older you get, the less you are sure to remember; and that really sucks. I guess this was the real reason I bought a fountain pen and a shit-colored book – to remember my life when my brain cells decide to fail me.

So far so good. Writing even the myriad of experiences in a burst of black ink just confirms one thing – life is truly amazing. Of course, I have now retired the pen and book, and decided to start blogging. While I was reticent at first, the transition has been an interesting one. I just hope the journey will be the same.