This Place

This place used to hold stories of pain. As the bag slowly unloaded, I find myself visiting my blog less.

I was checking some other blogs that I find very entertaining and I realized one thing. I have been writing about painful memories and realization that I would rather forget. Most of the blogs that I have been reading lately usually talks about life in random, stories of day to day accounting of one’s life.

Why do I chronicle such painful memories anyway?

For some time, writing was a sort of therapy for me. I was depressed, overworked and single. I have nothing or nobody to spend time on and blogging became a refuge for my ailing heart.

I still don’t have the things that I want to have in life, but I am slowly getting them. The journey promises to be fun and with the boyfriend beside me, I know I will achieve all my dreams.

Here I am at 25 --un-single, still overworked and occasionally depressed—and I still have more stories to tell.

Let the tapping of the keys begin.