The written word is a window into the mind.

I don’t write professionally; neither do I write often. But when I reach that point where it is impossible to surmise my thoughts in the open, much like an infant who has out-cried itself to exhaustion, they explode onto paper within minutes and become my very own secrets. Vulnerability births my inspiration, with each piece echoing a muted bawl that struggles to decipher if life in its chaotic spontaneity is soaked in a glass that is half full or half empty. Prost!


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