So much to do in this life, and yet, I procrastinate to get some coffee with a friend, and dinner, of course, how can we skip dinner? I wonder why this is the case. I wonder why the gnawing feeling of not having written a single word since the morning seems nothing compared to when you are lost in the delirium of conversation and coffee. Now, it may seem ironic that I am writing about this—it suggests I was able to keep the fight up and managed to write some words regardless. But I must put my foot down and say this is not true. It is only that a convenient window must not be left unutilised, and here, I have found one, and I have taken the time to write. Isn’t life this melange of ironies, of things that should not make sense but they do? How unlikely, how almost impossible most things seem, and yet they do happen, time and again, over and over.
In my heart, today, I have nothing but a kind appreciation for the complexities we play with every day. We casually toy with improbabilities and call it hope; when hope does come to pass, we forget all about how impossible it felt. To think I thought I would end up by myself, alone and reclusive. But for all my tendency to lock myself in a pocket of my own, the world has extended a hand forward. I look at this life, the people here, there and everywhere, the times they ask me how things are, and the times I tell them they are okay, that there are tribulations, that I am solving them one at a time. How nice it is to have someone who says: do you need any help with that? How nice it is to have someone who listens to your problems and how beautiful it is that, if necessary, they are willing to laugh at them, too.
All of us only need this: some food, a drink, some laughter, family, and a few friends. The rest is as rest goes. You do some work to earn some money. And if your friend is meeting someone at a cafe for work, if time allows you a little window, then you quietly sit at a different table to sit and write.