One Year Of Spilling

 

It was not a challenge.
It was not a plan.
It started like most things do, with questions and a blank page.

August 1 2024. I had thoughts in my head that did not stay shut anymore. Some turned into sentences. Some became questions. And some just needed a corner to rest in. So I opened a space called it mine and began.

A year later I have written 181 times, about politics, rides, insights, cinema and poetry. Some blogs were sharp, some personal. Some days I wrote because I needed to, some because I could not resist. There were words that scratched, ideas that refused to be nice and memories that showed up. But I let them all stay.

Writing has not made me a better person.
But it has made me more honest.
More observant of people who speak with their eyes and those who hide behind words.
More open to contradictions, to uncomfortable truths, to the beauty of honest emotions.

I don’t know who reads these pieces.
Sometimes I don't even reread them myself.
But I know they hold parts of me I would not have met otherwise.

This is not a celebration post.
This is just a silent acknowledgment, to the page, to the process and to the person I have become because I kept showing up.