At around twelve in the afternoon, I found myself on the couch and noticed how unimaginably bright the apartment was, and I realised that the sun had found its way inside from all corners possible, from the many windows, from the open balcony door, and blades of light, strokes and specks here and there were on all the walls. In this golden space of warmth all around, I realised there was little I wanted in life. I realised this once again, as I have time and again, and this happened only because I had forgotten it. We tend to forget this, of course; I am sure you agree and have felt it escape you, too, and I am sure you have been reminded of it by the softest of touches from life, like some sun, some rain, a little bit of pain, and I am sure you have obsessed over this, like I have been today.
And owing to this obsession, I have done little, and done but the bare minimum of what I do every day, and now, for all intents and purposes, the day is over since I have to head out, but for all that I did not do today, all that I pushed onto the shoulders of tomorrow, I sat for another minute in the sun. That is not a bad way to remember a day by. To me, that is of supreme importance: to take a moment. That is all we are here for, to take some space, to take a moment, to sit at a table and say something with profound conviction, to stand with our arms wide and our backs straight, to be proud and say:
I am here, and I am alive, and if I want to, I can sit here and bask in the sun, that much is a given, and no one can take it away from me.