Of a cat, anxiety, and homecoming – May to July

The inevitability of Covid brings with it occasional bouts of excruciating anxiety and lethargy. But there’s a glimmer of hope in the form a foster cat.

We pick up Hannah from SPCA and smuggle her into our home (which isn’t without its share of trials and tribulations). She warms our hearts with her unbearable cuteness and softness. Cuddling her every morning upon waking up and after returning from work become the highlights of our day. Words may not be enough – as is always the case – so here are some pictures

You know you are loved when your cat gives you company while you grade mind-numbing tests.

Meanwhile, May brings with it, relief coupled with trepidation. The borders open for temporary visa holders and I book my tickets to visit home in June, a day after H’s birthday. Home. A part of me is in disbelief while the rest grapples with a bout of anticipatory travel anxiety. I begin jotting down my check-lists. Despite everything, I realize the pandemic is still a fixture at this point which necessitates a bunch of documents such as vaccine certificates, letters of permission from the University and my supervisor, and self-declaration forms. To top this, I find myself plagued with questions, wondering how things would be back home. Would they have changed a lot? Would the familiarity overwhelm me? Will my boyfriend and I actually come out of this visit unscathed? I see my residual resentment towards him bubbling up through the cracks occasionally. My mind is plagued with questions.

Though I find the whole process stressful, it is indeed soothing to have a cat around. Hannah sidles up to me each time she senses my low moods. H and I move onto another gripping K-drama, Beyond Evil which stays with us long after the season finale. One particular Friday, I wake up extraordinarily early and treat myself to a sumptuous breakfast at Ima, a popular Mediterranean eatery. I think it’s important to pamper yourself – if it is affordable – and let yourself off the hook from time to time. That evening, Ap and I go to the bouldering gym together. Little do I know that it would be probably be the last time we do so but more about that later.

Eventually, Hannah finds a (hopefully) loving home. It is bittersweet but H and I hope we can get her new parents to send us updates. Unfortunately, our efforts to persuade SPCA to pass on our message go in vain as we never hear from anybody. We try not to dwell on it and move on with our lives.

As my visit to home looms, I find myself getting frequently anxious. It doesn’t help that my PMS worsens with each cycle. There are increasingly vicious arguments with my partner, and no, I won’t elaborate but let’s just say – they leave me desolate and miserable. Add to this, the sudden demise of a favourite singer. I wake up to the news that KK – a musician beloved to millennials like me, whose music formed the soundtrack of our adolescence – is no more. I’m gutted to say the least.

On a positive note – a much needed therapy session helps me focus on my triggers and thoughts upon getting triggered. Engaging with thoughts is what escalates an emotion from 3 to 10 and my homework is to bring this point into awareness. Thoughts are words. They are meaningless unless acted upon. This includes false reassurances to calm myself down temporarily. A heartening realization that makes realize that I can get a grip on my emotions by engineering the thoughts behind them.

Times whizzes past and H’s birthday finally arrives. One day before, I wrap up stuff at the uni, hurriedly hug my coworkers which includes Ap, and rush home to decorate the house and keep an assortment of cakes and pastries ready. Unbeknownst to H, I have proactively organized a birthday treasure-hunt after consulting her college friends virtually, the treasure being a deluxe version of her favourite BTS album Be. H is not one to vocalize her affection towards me, but the treasure hunt proves to be a success the next day, and her joy is palpable! I film a reaction video of sorts and share it with her friends.

We eat lunch at a cosy South-African eatery on Elliot Street. As I watch H happily munch on chicken and waffles, I feel a sudden pinch in my heart. It feels gut-wrenching to leave my best friend, flatmate and sole support system in New Zealand all by herself for a month whilst I visit home. It doesn’t help that Covid is always lurking round the corner. What if I am not able to come back? The guilt of being the first one amongst us to visit home is crushing. But H, in her typical H-fashion assures me that there’s no need to catastrophize. And so with her reassurance, I embark on my visit home.


To say that I am in the best frame of mind on the flight back home would be a lie. My excitement about meeting my partner and going home is marred by a vicious argument days before my departure. And so it weighs on me heavily as I try to distract myself with movies and cups of coffee on board. I write a sombre note on my phone that is addressed to him, and to us. But I’m going to cut the suspense and jump a few days ahead – we meet for lunch where I manage to convey what’s been plaguing my mind, and hear him out as well. I feel understood for the first time in a long time.

The first time I see my father’s familiar figure outside the airport, a wave of relief washes over me. It feels surreal to be back home. The instant cortisol drop makes me gorge on the sandwiches and Lays wafers my mother has thoughtfully packed for me – washed down with two packs of Frooti. I can barely stop filming videos on our drive back to Pune. Seeing my mother at our doorstop proves to be the final force against the dread that has resided in my mind all these months. I am truly elated.

Needless to say, being home makes a massive difference to my mental health. I don’t recall being this relaxed in a long time. I realize that I was either anxious about my relationship falling apart or about having my parents fall sick. I am grateful. The familiarity of being home isn’t as overwhelming as I had catastrophized it to be. The city is eerily identical to what it looked like in Jan 2020, save for a couple of new buildings and the lack of two distinct flyovers near the university. The cat I used to play with in our compound remembers me even now! She’s hale and hearty despite having evidently aged. I am warmed and pleasantly surprised when almost all my friends make time to meet me despite their busy schedules. S flies down to Pune for a week and we spend our time together talking about everything under the sun, catching up with what had gone down in the past two years.

Meanwhile, my partner and I have several conversations about our future, calmly for the most part. I realize how brutal distance can actually get, because the man I know isn’t this villainous character that he transforms into – in my head – when he is away. It isn’t always hunky-dory though – there are days when I regress to being irate and upset due to certain plans not materializing. This includes a trip to Goa. Not only does it deeply disappoint me, but also leads me to project my disappointment on him. Gradually, things resolve as we make the most of the time we have at our disposal.

As July looms, I realize I am not ready to go back yet. Luckily, I manage to extend my visit by another week. I get a health check up to rule out fibroids and other menstrual cycle issues. My blood-work and other reports are normal save for abysmally low levels of Vitamin D and B12. I schedule a consult with a psychiatrist – known to our family – to get an opinion on my anxious moods. On her recommendation, I trial a cocktail of medications for barely three days until I realize that I am not ready yet. I am not entirely satisfied with her diagnosis which is further subtly confirmed by my long time therapist. On the latter’s advice, I decide to take a second opinion in December (when I’d be home again). In the meantime, I am put on a vitamin supplement course to be on track.

July further instills a sense of calm and gratitude in me as I spend quality time with my family and indulge in activities that give me great satisfaction. Upon invitation, I give an informal talk on my PhD journey to my old research group at NCL. I am warmly welcomed by my ex-supervisor and ex co-workers. I embrace the ordinariness of my home that I had once taken for granted until I moved out. I indulge in my favourite vegetarian dishes. I stroll around MG road. I witness Pune rains and deeply breathe in the petrichor, the lack of which is conspicuous in Auckland. I binge watch Reply 1988 with my mother.

As my visit draws to a close, it is understandably bittersweet. But I leave home with a sense of wonderment.

I have no idea why I felt like home wouldn’t feel like home. If anything, I’m relieved.

April: The bad and the good C

I wake up without an alarm at 7:30am to a beautiful April morning with pleasant weather. April has always been one of my favourite months in New Zealand. April is about pristine blue skies, wearing shades of red, clicking pictures at The Domain, bidding farewell to beaches, resuming the use of my thermos coffee mug after months, listening to Sid Sriram’s songs on loop, and the list goes on.

However, the first few days of the month are mired in gloom – a prescient warning from the last week of March. The tension brewing between my partner and I reaches a crescendo and almost makes me lose my voice. Cruel words are thrown around carelessly – no, I will not elaborate – but the damage is done. I tell him I need space. We don’t speak for over a day which is a lot given we converse everyday without fail. This simple act of self-preservation is enough to elicit an apology and the self-accountability he owes me. We continue to tread on unstable ground over subsequent weeks, but he seems to realize that I won’t put up with him lashing out at me.

Meanwhile, H and I say goodbye to daylight savings which automatically translates to waking up “early” and decent mealtimes. It means familiar sunsets at 6pm that I am accustomed to. But April weather keeps us bamboozled by oscillating between migraine-inducing hot afternoons to breezy evenings. We also begin to experiment with HelloFresh: a service that delivers a set of meal-kits spanning a week at our doorstep. Not only are their recipes refreshingly different, but also delicious enough to have us temporarily suspend our takeaway habits.

As for consuming content, my sister and I watch a film adaptation of Sachin Kundelkar’s Cobalt Blue on Netflix, which disappoints us deeply given its one of our favourite books. Soon after, I end up returning a borrowed copy of The Sapiens (by Yuval Noah Harari) to the library after having struggled to keep a reading schedule. I purchase a Kindle version with hopes that I’ll eventually catch up.

Teaching gains momentum; I diligently make up for lost research hours by working over the weekend. As I skim through the material provided for the quantitative biology labs, I find myself getting genuinely fascinated with the subject. Moreover, I begin proof-reading another manuscript from the research group I was previously a part of only to get frustrated with typos and a general lack of referencing. Overall, I realize that I thrive when my schedule is packed, despite bad weather and period cramps.

Easter arrives and brings with it a much deserved respite from work. H and I take a ferry to Waiheke Island where we beach hop. Unfortunately we end up not indulging in the one thing the island is renowned for – wine. Most vineyards are either completely booked or closed due to staff shortage. Nonetheless, we have a great day and click tons of pics. To top this, we successfully manage to tick some items off our Easter itinerary – a fun photo-shoot at The Domain and a live in-home recording session.

Two days later I wake up with an alarming tickle in my throat. And that’s when our April mood transitions into something that we least expect. The tickle snowballs into a dry cough, spells of mild fever, exhaustion and body ache over the next day. I suspect it’s The Dreaded C but the RAT kit says otherwise. Needless to say, H’s health takes a downturn along with mine. I jot down my symptoms to keep track of my health and promptly inform Healthline. Following another night of disturbed sleep with chills and high fever, I finally test positive for Covid with H following me hot on the heels.

We are thankful for each other’s company and for friends who deliver groceries and medicines at our doorstep. We gradually recover over the next eight to ten days. There are two noticeable side-effects of the virus, one being repulsion to coffee – which turns out to be temporary, thankfully – and an aversion to Instagram. Over the course of my illness, I consume a lot of garbage content on the interwebz that is for the most part, pointless Bollywood gossip from one of my favourite subreddits. One of my guilty pleasures involves following up on Indian celeb gossip. I watch Tanmay Bhat’s silly vlogs and reaction videos on YouTube. I binge on old episodes from Koffee with Karan to distract myself. H and I binge on a zombie apocalypse centered K-drama – All Of Us Are Dead. Memes keep me going through my sickness and I’m ever so grateful to them for lightening up my otherwise bleak days.

On the day our isolation period is over – which almost coincides with the end of this eventful month – we wake up to exciting news: SPCA has an adult cat up for fostering. The pleasant timing of the opportunity makes us take up their offer to bring home a gorgeous black beauty named Hannah. We are besotted by her. She’s everything you would want your cat to be – cuddly, sweet and absolutely adorable!

And so the good C brings April to a close.

Grounding myself: March

It’s the second day of March and I wake up freezing in bed. There’s a definite drop in temperature. Is autumn on the threshold, I wonder. Because if so, I’m pleasantly surprised. I realize that Kiwi summers aren’t my thing. Yes, there are beaches and a couple of months of wearing less clothes but in terms of my mood and mental health – NAH. I now understand the hype around autumn, especially since it isn’t a thing for us folks back home. It’s the pleasant kinda cold, just enough to make you wear light shrugs and an occasional beanie. I think to myself that maybe this is a sign that better days are coming, given how tumultuous February had been.

March begins with frequent therapy sessions. I figure I have some exploring and inner chronicling to do understand myself better. I realize sleep is paramount. However, there are days when I wake up feeling tired despite having slept for around 8 hours – from 11pm to 8am. This worries me as consider myself to be a morning person.

Meanwhile, I successfully completely my fifteen-day goal to bring down my usage of Instagram. I realize that on an average I spend between 40 to 60 minutes on the platform, which isn’t terrible given how crazy my usage times were in the beginning. I decide to extend the goal to another month, where I would limit my usage to 60 minutes in the first half and then reduce it to 50 minutes in the second. This doesn’t go as planned; I find myself lapsing back into unhealthy scrolling habits. On the days I stick to my goal, I notice my overall screen-time shooting up as I fill the void left by the gram with other apps such as YouTube and Twitter. But I am patient. Deep-rooted habits don’t die overnight.

I use this month to recuperate from my ill mental health. I resume an illustrative journaling course by Kate Sutton on Domestika that I had signed up for last October. This exercise proves to deeply therapeutic as I throw caution to the winds and draw from memory, illustrating a day from my life, my favourite things, the food I love, the walks I have gone on, etc. I toy with the idea of buying myself a pack of Posca markers but hold back as they are expensive. I finally resolve to make use of materials I already own before giving into impulses.

I manage to read one book – Anxious People by Fredrick Backman – that steals my heart. The plot is delightful, funny, wholesome yet thrilling. Backman’s quirky prose makes me chuckle (when I am not being choked up with emotions). I love the feminist undertone to the storyline. I find myself gushing about his book for days to come and send a copy to S as a birthday present. In the meantime, I get back to almost binging on K-dramas after what seems like a year. I complete watching the first season of Hospital Playlist, Doctor John, and follow up with a new show titled Thirty-Nine. There are days when H and I watch episodes from Keeping Up With The Kardashians as the content is asinine; it is fun to watch rich white people doing Rich White People Things.

March doesn’t fly by without its share of downs. There are days when I’m bogged down by homesickness. The last week is marred by tense conversations with my partner about our future that trigger my anxiety. After one such conversation, I sleep poorly and wake up with a pit in my stomach. I am immobilized by gloom which leads me to swap my teaching shift with another tutor on the pretext of a migraine. I end up binging on some episodes from the second season of Hospital Playlist. I order myself a breakfast takeaway to lift up my spirits but the meal turns out to be disappointing. I let myself crash up until around late afternoon, after which I force myself to shower and get out for a cup of coffee. I drain a cup of flat white at a nearby cafe – it is delicious – and walk towards the Ferry Building. I sit on one of the stone benches overlooking the water front with a newly curated playlist playing in my ears. As I watch the waves bob up and down, a sense of calm washes over me. I breathe deeply and watch the sky gradually change hues from sepia yellow to pastel pink. I love this city, I think to myself. I silently vow to focus on my goals and not get bogged down by what the future may hold.

April, bring it on.

Of unfinished business and compulsions

Remember the time I vouched to soldier at my pace and finish the A to Z Blogging Challenge? I couldn’t live up to the promise I made to myself. I procrastinated to the point where returning to this space filled me with regret, annoyance and disappointment. Regret for having given up. Annoyed at my incompetence to complete the challenge. Disappointed at my myself for having neglected my blogging habits once again.

And you know what? It’s OK. At least that’s what I tell myself.

As I grow older, I find myself thinking about what purpose means to me. So far, purpose to me has encompassed challenges, projects, To-Do lists and goals. However, if I’m unable to fulfill these, I am overwhelmed by ennui. I realize that I tend to set targets for my creative pursuits as well. This in turn is ironical as the latter naturally ebb and flow and are highly sensitive to my energy levels and moods.

So why am I fatalistic about them? Come to think of it, this sense of needless urgency to indulge in activities with end-goals is linked to my fear of failure. The failure of living up to standards I’ve set for myself which when otherwise surpassed, serve to activate the reward centre in my brain. My self-talk is demanding, governed by words that signify compulsion. I need to do this. I have to finish this blogging challenge. Add to this, a plate overloaded with unrealistic objectives sprinkled generously with procrastination.

Here’s the catch though. Purpose can be divorced from failure if the former shifts from fruition to learning. For learning implies possibility and the scope to keep moving as far as you would like. Learning releases the clutch of an audience. It is a practice in living. Pleasure serves a purpose too. What if I wrote to merely enjoy the satisfaction of writing? What if I were to read for the joy of reading and to not simply complete a Goodreads Challenge or gain intellectual benefit? Simply put, why can’t my creative pursuits be “goal-less”? What about the pleasure of learning itself as an experience in staying alive?

What I have mentioned so far is Not Easy for someone like me. But I am going to try. And I will aim to keep learning.

This post was not supposed to be about my musings. Anyhow.

Coming back to the A to Z Blogging Challenge that spanned April, the theme I chose was On living alone and discovering adulthood in the midst of a pandemic.

There were a lot of things I had intended to write. But the good news is that the pandemonium pandemic is ongoing with new variants that have joined the party. As for adulthood – it doesn’t end. It appears to stretch on and on.

Oh, and happy 2022.

P and Q are for Photographs and Quotes

Frozen memories – the phrase that comes to my head when I browse through a photo album.

Now mind you, when I talk about photographs and quotes, I don’t mean cookie-cutter selfies with captions that make no sense! FYI, I absolutely loathe those. I’m talking about pictures so complete in themselves that they can narrate stories.

The Internet and social media is always abuzz with click-baits on  ‘good’ photography. Photography could be an art. To some, it’s a skill that can be honed. To some, it is intuitive.  And then there are some to whom the technicalities matter – composition, lighting, depth of field etc.

What does it mean to me?

Oftentimes, I have stumbled upon some beautiful photo-blogs, which make me pause and take notice of the details incorporated. These are the pictures that stir forgotten book quotes to my mind. The reverse holds true as well. I have lost count of the times I have perused through the pages of a novel, associating the imagery with a remarkable photograph I must have encountered somewhere.  In my opinion, that’s the power of good photography.

My tryst with photography began when I was eighteen. I am not a photographer by any means. I started off with a simple point-and-shoot camera, its maximum resolution being 2 MP. That’s right. That’s waaayy below today’s selfie standards. Though the pictures are cringe worthy, back then, my modest camera gave me the impetus to dabble with different subjects. Soon I upgraded to another point-and-shoot before finally settling on my very own DSLR.

I have had friends who appreciate the photographs I click whilst some who consider my skills to be mediocre. To start with, I don’t know if I’m blessed with an eye for detail or perspective. But one thing’s for sure, capturing a good shot makes me happy.

Here are some personal favourites (sources are provided in the captions).

 

“After the night meal with his head on his granny’s lap, nestling close to her, Swaminathan felt very snug and safe in the faint atmosphere of cardamom and cloves. ‘Oh, Granny!’ he cried ecstatically. ‘You don’t know what a great fellow Rajam is.’ He told her the story of the first enmity between Rajam and Mani and the subsequent friendship.”

-R.K Narayan (Swami and his Friends )

Screenshot from 2017-04-21 12:07:13

Photo by Abhishek Solanki

“The train would reach Deoli at about five in the morning when the station would be dimly lit with electric bulbs and oil lamps, and the jungle across the railway tracks would just be visible in the faint light of dawn.”

-Ruskin Bond (The Night Train at Deoli)

 

Photo by coffeeforthemoon

“I love walking in the rain because no one can see me crying”
― Rowan Atkinson

 

 

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Photo by Me!

“My grandmother, like everybody’s grandmother, was an old woman. She had been old and wrinkled for the twenty years I had known her.”
-Khushwant Singh (The Portrait of a Lady)

P and Q are for Photographs and Quotes

My theme for the A-Z Blogging Challenge is ‘The A to Z of some my favourite things’. Stay tuned for more posts, this April!

G is for Guitar

For those who don’t get the reference, my blog has been named after one of my most favourite things. My prized possession. My beautiful acoustic guitar.

I was drawn to this instrument after having watched a friend play Greenday’s ‘Time of Your Life’. I recall admiring his guitar, running my fingers on its steel strings and wishing I could play it as well as he did. That year, I learnt to play a bunch of chords, ‘Zombie’ by The Cranberries, and ‘Boulevard of Broken Dreams’ by Greenday. It was choppy playing for the most part, but it made me ridiculously happy. Soon after, I expressed a strong desire to seek formal training. My mother, who seemed to have been vague with her response, dispelled all my doubts by gifting me a new guitar on my sixteenth birthday.

My taste in music spans many genres, but I am a lover of acoustic rock, folk-pop, blues and jazz. Besides that, my interests also lie in Indian classical music and fusion-rock.

Ironically, my blog posts have little to do with music. There’s a quote that comes to my mind, which is perhaps quite apt in this context –

To stand up on a stage alone with an acoustic guitar requires bravery bordering on heroism. Bordering on insanity.
– Richard Thompson

When my guitar sings, I hear the undisguised euphony of its strings. Every string is an entity by itself, the sounds of which are unprocessed, raw, yet sensitive to touch and flaws.

Around the time I began my blog, I deemed my competence in writing to be next to nil. I was fresh out of junior college, having spent two years in the company of friends with the gift of eloquence.  I was nervous about having to reveal a part of myself to a virtual audience (a part of which comprised my friends and family).  It was akin to going on stage with my guitar and trusting myself to not screw up.

So here I am, six years later, musing over my transformation from an under-confident teenager to a somewhat confident twenty-something adult. I owe it to my guitar for saving me from bouts of low self-esteem. My guitar playing has improved significantly from what it was back then, though I’d rather describe myself as a hobbyist and not a guitarist.

Learning to play this instrument has not been a cakewalk. I recall the struggle to hold a barre chord. There were times when the disappointment of failing to get a simple song right, would overtake the initial excitement. Nevertheless, the joy and satisfaction I felt on succeeding was always palpable. Of course, this holds true till date.

They say patience is a virtue and not a skill. I assumed I didn’t possess it until I picked up a guitar. Turns out that my patience had been dormant.

G is for Guitar

My theme for the A-Z Blogging Challenge is ‘The A to Z of some my favourite things’. Stay tuned for more posts, this April!

F is for Filter Coffee

The letter ‘C’ should have ideally been for coffee but that seemed to be too generic. Sure, I do love coffee in all its forms but filter coffee holds a special place in my life.

I have had a love affair with this drink from as long as I can remember. When I was young, my grandmother would bribe me with coffee in order to get some lactose into my system.  Of course, it’s also by virtue of my Tambrahm-ness. A South-Indian household is incomplete without the ubiquitous, heady aroma of filter coffee, or kaapi (as we call it) that ushers you in. It’s the smell that takes me down memory lane – back to my grandparents place, solving Math sums with my grandfather, my attention focused on his slurps rather than my book, and  4 AM weddings.

What makes kaapi different from its counterparts?

The ingredients are minimal – freshly brewed decoction,  boiling milk, and sugar (which is optional). Of course, you have to ensure that you buy the coffee powder from a reliable store (South-Indian preferably, because the retailers are fool proof and  ‘know their shit’). Choosing the right mix can be tricky and it depends on one’s tastes. The perfect blend of roasted and ground coffee beans keeps you craving for more, and turns the likes of me into caffeine addicts.

Here’s the apparatus for creating some magic.

Using a filter has its benefits, be it on Instagram or for brewing coffee – one enhances your selfie while the other awakens your taste buds.

The Internet has no dearth of filter coffee recipes. But don’t forget to

  • take a long whiff of the roasted powder. That’s right. That’s the smell of heaven.
  • appreciate the grains of freshly ground coffee. Hold some in your palm. Watch them slip between your fingers and be hypnotized.
  • make sure the coffee is frothy when served. Coffee without froth is vapid and dull, and will certainly worsen your Monday mornings.
  • serve it in a steel tumbler and davara (Tamil equivalent of a saucer)
  • not add tons of sugar and dilute its flavour . That’s not kaapi. That’s diabetes.
  • savour every sip till the last drop and allow the caffeine to reinvigorate you.

Once you’re hooked to Kaapi, there’s no going back. Punctuate your mornings, afternoons or evenings, summers, monsoons and winters with this elixir. It’s the perfect ice-breaker. The ideal conversation-starter.

F is for Filter Coffee

My theme for the A-Z Blogging Challenge is ‘The A to Z of some my favourite things’. Stay tuned for more posts, this April!

E is for Enthusiasm

My mother says I was an enthusiastic kid.  I loved holidays or family-outings, and enjoyed involving myself in the planning process. Of course, that hasn’t really changed over the years.

When it comes to my interests and favourite things, I tend to exhibit and incorporate a lot of fervour. However, it doesn’t necessarily last for long. Sometimes it is easily extinguished by the lack of inspiration. At times, it could be my mood. Sometimes, the lack of participation from others (in a group activity) can douse it.

But there are ways to rekindle it. There are triggers.

My blog had been dormant for the past one year. This was owing to a lot of reasons, one of them being self-criticism. I was convinced that my writing skills had become jaded. I couldn’t look at my blog without feeling a twinge of disappointment, and of nostalgia for those nights devoted to filling up a virtual white box with words. The drafts folder became a dumping ground for partially worded memories, miserable attempts at humour, lackluster paragraphs about anxiety and apologies for having subjected this blog to neglect.

Last month, I found myself reading one of my favourite blogs after ages. I recall reading her posts from the blogging challenge of 2015.  The lucidity of her words infused me with warmth and her writing reflected her enthusiasm. I felt a spark. April was near. I knew I wanted to do this.

Choosing to write about my favourite things has reinforced my passion and motivation to resume an exercise that I had once begun (back in the summer of 2011) as an attempt to journal my thoughts. I know I bring out the best in me when I am zealous. It has always worked for me.

I love that about myself.

I like being in the company of enthusiastic people. My sister and I tend to produce tremendous music when we pool in our creative juices. I’d say we owe that to our enthusiasm. Our zest helps us in our quest for inspiration. Wow, that almost sounded lyrical.

I’d like to end by saying that moderation is the key to everything. (I just suddenly turned that around right?) Over-enthusiasm can be aggravating. But I’ll save that for another post. There’s a term for individuals who cross the limit – enthu cutlets. Go on, google it.

E is for Enthusiasm

My theme for the A-Z Blogging Challenge is ‘The A to Z of some my favourite things’. Stay tuned for more posts, this April!

Blogging from A-Z challenge theme reveal

I gave this is a lot of thought. Should I? Should I not? Will I leave it incomplete like last time (two years ago to be precise). The only time I did manage to finish it, was the first time I took part in it.

What is it? What am I talking about?

Yes, yes. Blogging from A-Z challenge! *drum roll*

The name is pretty self-explanatory but for those who want details, here goes – I’ll be writing something new each day, starting April 1 excluding Sundays (the fourth Sunday being included, however) till the month ends. Day 1  is for  “A”,  Day2 for “B” and so on . It is exciting for the most part, though a writer’s block may not be surprising for those (like me), who don’t have their posts planned in advance.

A theme is not mandatory, but I love themes and they help me channel my thoughts better. So without further ado, let me reveal what I have in my mind for this year’s challenge –

thmrevel

The A-Z of some of my favourite things. 

It may not be the most original or unique theme, but it’s something I have been wanting to explore for a long, long time. Why? Because, the onset of adulthood has me enveloped in gloom and anxiety. Those who STILL read this almost dormant blog of mine, would know the kind of things I have written about over the past two years or so.

The negativity needs to end. My blog needs to reawaken.

*dramatic pause*

Jokes apart, I need to up my time management skills and be in touch with my writing skills. And importantly, I gotta to learn to love myself a little more. I want to make myself happy. This could probably be that opportunity to reacquaint myself with the things I love. These things can range from food, items, personal belongings, words, actions, or even stuff that isn’t necessarily tangible.

For all those kind readers who gave my blog a chance way back in 2012, thank you. For those who are new to my virtual space here’s a link  to what I wrote – https://akprowling.wordpress.com/category/sounds-of-the-soul/

The countdown begins!!