Hello, most excellent!

Today the listless fever has subsided. I managed to get out of bed, take a shower, and prepare rice and egg curry. Now, in the stillness of the evening, I am at my desk and there is an irresistible urge in my heart to speak with you. You know, knowing that you are my friend and senior is both a reassurance and solace. As long as I can still drag myself from my bed and talk with you, I am certain that the chaos of this life will not consume me. 

Do you think it is hasty to say a patient is cured after only one day of seeming to regain strength? You know what? It doesn’t matter. I am glad to report to you that I have finally managed to cross the chaotic minefields of doubts and self sabotages. Today when I got out of bed, I was calm and at peace with simply being who I am convinced I’m meant to be; a writer. It seems that all the paths I was lost in were leading me to this single conviction. From now on, writing will be my sole focus of energy. 

I have counted the cost and I am now ready to pay the price. Which in the real sense, is not so much as a price to me but an opportunity for me to live a calm and blessed existence. It’s an opportunity to unencumbered myself from the demands of life and give myself over, wholly, to the pursuit of this goal. A goal I find eternally nourishing. 

I am not certain if I will make it to philosophy as you have often encouraged me. But, even if I were to consider myself a philosopher (I mean the true meaning of philosopher, not as people nowadays say to mean a scholar whose thoughts are solely directed by those who came before them; to the extent that the philosophizing they practice is mere regurgitation of ideas. And even worse, their thinking is not only directed by what Plato or Aristotle or Spinoza has said but is also confused by the pursuit of fame, riches and pleasures. But I’m digressing here.) Even if I were to consider myself a philosopher, I would not fit in the established systems. Because for me, philosophy, and everything about life, is only interesting to me to the extent that they edify my life and nourish my writing.

I am fully aware that this kind of calm, small existence is unorthodox, but it is where my true happiness lies. And so, to borrow the analogy of Baruch Spinoza, I have no choice but to abandon a certain goal for an uncertain good. I am like a dying man who has heard that a cure exists in a far land; even if it takes my last breaths, I must make the journey. Perhaps, I am still a meandering river that’s searching for its course and one day I’ll take it up serious philosophizing. This I can not promise you, my wonderful friend. What I can promise you is this; I can write and I will write. And, whichever doors my writing will open for me, I will gladly enter those doors with a cheerful heart.

It has been wonderful to talk to you for again, most excellent.