It’s been a while.
As an author, with responsibilities to my readers, I shouldn’t be going MIA unannounced. But the pandemic threw a wrench into my otherwise normal and quiet life. School closed, lockdowns happened, exams came as scheduled, but there were no gatherings and fun times with friends to round off the year, and no graduation ceremony to celebrate the end of my student days. I shed more tears in the days leading up to this than I ever shed over anything, and struggled through choked sobs to eke out my words of thanks to friends that I may well never see again. There was so much to be thankful for over the years, yet so much I took for granted and so many things I wish I had done; I don’t think I’ve yet been able to digest everything that has happened, but I think I can wax melancholic poetry about these few weeks for years to come.
With the arrival of a first ever summer holiday without any plans, I’ve been able to pick up the pen once more. I’m grateful, at least, that I can turn to writing when things get tough; just as books are for readers a form of escapism from reality, so is writing those books for the author. In a world where the only permanence is impermanence, hopefully the constancy of the worlds we construct for ourselves in books can give us some comfort and solace.