Let me begin by wishing you all a very good day from Gasa, the North.
As I was searching for a post written long ago, when my bones were nimble and sinews strong, to wish our Great Fourth a very happy 63rd and wish him long life and good health, I stumbled across my own blog. And I read the introductory line I had written when my thoughts were simpler and I had a clear image of what I want in the near and distant future. I wrote “For the writer in me that keeps me from aging, for as long as the soul has something to ponder, it never grows dull”
Over the years, the only thing I have written are prescriptions, medical certificates, case history sheets, injury reports and medical examination reports. I loved writing. I loved twisting words and blending them to create something, to express something and I enjoyed. When I read my own posts, I was overwhelmed. Where did that guy go? My own posts seemed alien to me. In between living and making a living, the writer had died. I mourned his death. I mourned this loss.
When I had informed my mum that I planned to go to Gasa, she was worried. She put restrictions, she pleaded me not to and then she gave in to my wishes, like all parents eventually do. Then she pleaded me to be careful and pleaded me to be sober.
And as I wait here at a small restaurant, whose owner we woke up from his deep, awaited Sunday slumber, it dawned to me. Coming to Gasa was not in vain. Sometimes the farther you travel, the closer you get to yourself. And it’s in this lovely, isolated, quiet place, The Block, comes crumbling down and from its dust, rises the Phoenix.
Happy birthday Your Majesty, May You Live Long and Prosper. And in many sorts, I am reborn too.
As I was searching for a post written long ago, when my bones were nimble and sinews strong, to wish our Great Fourth a very happy 63rd and wish him long life and good health, I stumbled across my own blog. And I read the introductory line I had written when my thoughts were simpler and I had a clear image of what I want in the near and distant future. I wrote “For the writer in me that keeps me from aging, for as long as the soul has something to ponder, it never grows dull”
Over the years, the only thing I have written are prescriptions, medical certificates, case history sheets, injury reports and medical examination reports. I loved writing. I loved twisting words and blending them to create something, to express something and I enjoyed. When I read my own posts, I was overwhelmed. Where did that guy go? My own posts seemed alien to me. In between living and making a living, the writer had died. I mourned his death. I mourned this loss.
When I had informed my mum that I planned to go to Gasa, she was worried. She put restrictions, she pleaded me not to and then she gave in to my wishes, like all parents eventually do. Then she pleaded me to be careful and pleaded me to be sober.
And as I wait here at a small restaurant, whose owner we woke up from his deep, awaited Sunday slumber, it dawned to me. Coming to Gasa was not in vain. Sometimes the farther you travel, the closer you get to yourself. And it’s in this lovely, isolated, quiet place, The Block, comes crumbling down and from its dust, rises the Phoenix.
Happy birthday Your Majesty, May You Live Long and Prosper. And in many sorts, I am reborn too.
Indeed, the phoenix has risen and he is sharp and immaculate as ever. I'm sure he is there to stay now. :)
ReplyDeleteAnd with that, I have become greedier. I'm dying to read more and more.
The phoenix needs to rise again. Been 2 years already. :) Please rise!!!
ReplyDelete