Writing as a journey:

My?writing journey;

?? It started on a purple pocketbook. Then it spread onto lose paper, textbook corners and in the absence of all else, i wrote on my limbs. In 2011, I started writing love poems whenever, wherever and however. The remembrance of the object of my fascination inspired my ascension into la la land and the descension of couplets nearly as beautiful as his lips. And back then, everything reminded me of him.

In 2014, moving across continents effectively pulled me out of the tresses of my love and shoved me into an unsheltered, independent life. I had grown out of my infatuation. That is supposed to be good news, right? Err, wrong!

????????????What is an artist without her muse? Nothing but loveless,? hopeless, and lifeless.

Through 2018, my pen stuck to simple white paper carefully drafting balance sheets and cheques. With occasional instances of joy, radiating from me when writing grocery lists.

????????????They were small but significant dots of yellow on an otherwise gray and white canvas.

As has always been the case in 2020, things took a turn for the worst??before they finally lay as they were destined to. The ceremonial trumpets declared our union.

?Thankfully, mine turned out to be the story in which the girl gets the guy. Alhumdulillah!??

Today, I use colorful paper with a silly glitter pens. I draft invoices, bucket lists, and??business plans. And of all the writing I do, my favorite by far are the love notes I create meticulously for his lunch box, the fridge, and our bedside table.