Essays

For a moment, I lived inside Anaconda, minus the snakes, except for the puff adder that slithered under my boot.

Life can get worse. Or it can get better. The difference is not luck. It is not timing. It is choice.

This piece is to set tone for the week. It is to assure my pens that their bleeding is never in vein. Especially these days – seeing that vanity has taken centre stage.

This isn’t the end. It’s the quiet, shaky, deeply personal beginning of something I don’t have a name for yet.

My world is obsessed with results. I am learning that trying times are the crucibles in which patience is tested and refined.