Of Writing and Joga

Sometimes blowing your chance can be very devastating; sometimes it serves as a blessing in disguise.

I am thankful today to a friend who always encouraged me to write-- my everyday musings, my unusual ranting, the bestest passion I get and I give, the perennial whining and complaints that I do and just everything that flows and triggers the compelling force inside.

In this state, I didn't have the energy to move. It's as if wanting someone to help me blink and breathe. I gazed at my trembling fingers and guarded it as it stroke every letter in the keyboard. I looked at the ceiling and thought that it may have been my fault after all. I've violated you for how many times. Let you pass by when everything else was okay and when nothing more or less really matters but you and me.

You were with me in my happiest days and the most lugubrious too. You’ve drawn the smile and the funky faces I had. We’ve shared the mundane and the grand views. You’ve contradicted statements and agreed on opinions at the same time. There were things that I greatly abhor that you liked and there were things that you dreaded but I do. You took my silence indifferently and your being outspoken, I detest. And still, amidst everything, here we are--together in same grounds. I knew I didn't blow the chance.

I stopped typing just for a few minutes. I noticed the trembling fingers stopped too. Then blank. Then words. I hated whodunits however I had the urge of using it for now.

And to you who's reading this:

You are my volition - my choice to continue.

You are that friend and you moved me to write. You are my lethargy at times and always my energy to endure.


I dropped the typing.
I hummed.
Joga.



you are you,
dani