37

Like a rolling stone, my friend Vijay's nostalgic email to me this afternoon, gathered momentum and I found myself bitten by the sentimental bug. I re-read some of my old posts and I was hugely entertained by the silly anecdotes that I shared on this blog over the past few years.

Those were the days when writing on this blog meant I was writing. Never mind that my life was made out of  boring, unspectacular events that just happened. All I knew is, I had to write and the blog was my empty canvas.

There are also some great truths hidden behind these posts and some of which I can remember clearly. Most of all, about the love lessons that I've encountered. 

At 37, life has changed for me somewhat in some ways but not all. The greatest achievement for me so far, if anyone would ask, is that I am a writer and make a living out of it. I'm still on the quieter side, a little reserved, but I'd like to think that I make up for it when I write. 

It is the best feeling in the world, a stirring in my soul, when anyone asks me what I do and I get to tell them that I'm a writer. 

For that (and more) I am thankful.