I felt like putting labels to myself. In about five weeks, I’ll be cringing with embarrassment but now I just want to look good to myself.
I’d like to think with me what you see is what you get. Like most human beings I love life, only I suppose I love it lustily, joyously and in a very involved way.
I like to think I have sense of humour even though I might not be the funniest girl about. I get over things pretty easily.
These days nothing seems impossible for me. I am a decent enough writer, a good human being, an honest friend, a feisty woman, a colourful child and a rather intelligent creature on the whole. I also make tons of mistakes, I can barely tell right from wrong because I can justify both, almost always. My smile starts from my heart and I am constantly looking, searching – inside, outside, in between – for myself.
I have a thousand stories to tell. And thousand more words. The connect between the two, however, hasn’t shown itself to me yet. Waiting.
I am super sensitive. But it’ll take you years to figure that one out. Last year was the most defining year of all my 27 years.
I was born under a star that sparkled, crackled, was filled with music and light and spun like crazy while emitting rainbow coloured showers. It was labelled “Super Blessed”.
I believe JK Rowling didn’t make Harry Potter up.
I love Calvin’s dad. He rocks.
I like or feel indifferent towards people immediately. And everytime I have gone against my instinct, I’ve learnt not to do it. Till the next time.
I hated pink for most my life. I love it these days.
I make a mean coffee. Give a mean massage. Love myself. And look forward to life.
In short, I am that spunky, happy, content-with-life girl that I sometimes doubted I’d be.