First Lily

I have been cowardly for a long time. I can give lots of reasons - lack of time, energy, confidentiality... but the main reason I've stopped writing is the ability to be truly open. Even now, the words are rusty, children clumsily running from the places they were hiding in. I don't know when awareness started to creep in... that words have responsibilities. As if "always" was a father of two or "cowardly" had a mortgage to pay back. I wish I could go back to the earlier times where I wrote "freely", but freely now seems like a pair of pants two sizes too small for me.

So this is me, trying to find new clothes. Trying to be less cowardly.

The motivation started around the last week of last year. I was waiting with friends at the train station for more friends. Then, TY and TYu appeared out of nowhere (the first of many reunions that night). The first thing TY said to me was, "I have something to tell you!" and I immediately replied, "You are getting married?!" and TY said, "No. But before that, you must tell me your new blog address!" And I felt something I haven't felt for ages already - that strange mix of guilt and regret and recklessness? of not meeting the expectations of someone strange and intimate. I know this phrase "strange and intimate" is awkward, but it expresses the idea of someone who was relating to you not in a position of friend, family or lover but almost a third party stranger - for e.g. a teacher. And so in that moment TY was not my friend, but a reader. And as a writer, even with no obligations to write, I felt that I had failed her in some way.

So, this is me, trying again. Trying again and again and again.