Saturday, December 1, 2012


You know, sometimes when rummaging through old stuff, you find that little guitar or that teeny casio you used to play as a kid. You find a drawing you made with pastels that you remember loving to your heart’s core, because it was the first time you ‘drew’ reflections in the water and were satisfied with the end result. You find your old Enid Blytons and cards your friends gave you on birthdays, and you rediscover this show you used to watch that absolutely changed your perspective on life. And then you realize, you miss being that person. And the saddest part is, you don’t remember when you stopped being it. When did you stop loving every stroke you painted? When did you stop loving every note you played, every word you wrote, every equation you solved?

The answer is, never.

You had just forgotten.

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