This Morning

I received an unexpected email from my oldest writing friend. It was enough though to make me smile. Nothing in the message contained anything special. It was just about keeping in touch. I could sense a bit of sadness there, was he feeling
lonesome. He was asking if I still write, if yes, then where are these essays?

It’s a pretty strange thing. To forge a kind of kinship with someone you have never met. It’s weirder still to realize that Ive known him (or at least his essays and emails) for, what, eight years. Back then, when I was just starting to write, I posted most of my essays in a little forum called Axxxxx. And he, my writing friend, would always encourage me with utterly improbable praises such as “ I am almost envious, for at the age of 24, you already have a beautiful mind.” I think a big part of my hunger and the relentlessness of my writing back then when I was straight out of college was because I “met” him. Young and clueless as I was, he became a sort of benchmark, his style was something I aspired to develop. If there was someone closest to becoming my living and breathing guide to writing, It was my friend. I looked forward to his comments, to the little praises that would make me push a bit further to write more bravely.

And then time and too many things broke the spell. I went abroad for work, jumped through a few countries. And the words pitter pattered into oblivion. The writing spell broken, and we kind of lost touch. I still visited his blog for some soul food. Sometimes we email each other. And sometimes, when I become confused in life, I ask him for advice. I remember the last few lines of the letter he sent me in 2006.
“ You take care. Seek joy within. Let it look out of you, like the way you looked at the world below you at the top of that mountain you climbed…
Love yourself a little bit more today than yesterday; it’s like yoga, you know, it takes practice. You’ll find you’ll be better soon.”
I am all better, my friend. I hope you are too. Your email made me remember the days when all that was needed was passion and words. I do hope that you, me and those who are struggling now to recapture their voices, that we remember how it was--- sad, yes, but magical.