Every morning I woke up with the fear that this,again,would turn out to be another day filled with the overwhelming feeling of being trapped, strangled, restrained from reaching my true potential.The future very near but I can’t be sure I’m in the right outfit for it.I tried to forget my past failures,but it seemed the harder I tried to forget the more they encroached into my present and crippled my attempts to get on with it. I fought hard to beat my spirit that was despairing and the urge to give up,to just,let things happen.But I couldn’t.In me,during my formation was installed a force greater than me, than my fears ,than my thoughts.Some call it hope.
I t was a force that couldn’t allow me to give in or just let life pass me by.So I opened my eyes and gritted my teeth.
I’d face anything and everything I was afraid of.I asked questions,requested for help,searched beyond my mind,listened to all the music I had pilled up.The Rock,The Jazz,
the bhangra,the mariachi,the kingdom melodies.I read too.I read the news,the sports pages,the lifestyle magazine.I dared.I reached out.I took trips,even to an Island.I visited a dentist.I called my folks and prayed.I read poetry and avoided loud,smokey places and mats and learned a new language.
Then I realized what my greatest fear had been.That I was capable of accomplishing a lot and was just scared of getting up and doing all those things that I fantasized in my dreams.
Within us lies great power that enables us to do all the things we wish in our hearts but are afraid that it may not come out as well as the general standards dictate.
Really,who sets the standards to what is within us?
I write stories,I write poems.the words in my hands are like yarn in a knitter’s hands.
The knitter decides the pattern,color and density of the piece they want to knit,and when to drop the knit,when to end it.Every cook decides when his food is ready.
As he said,the writer is the only one who knows his story.It is his business to write it.

So I write.