It’s been almost a year since I last wrote a post. Not because I’ve lost my passion for writing, but because I’ve reached a point where writing only feels satisfactory when it comes straight from the heart. I marvel at how some writers have the extraordinary ability to write consistently, creating works that deeply resonate with their readers. I still vividly remember a moment when my friend and I were in NYC, walking through Washington Square Park. We came across a man with a typewriter, crafting poems for strangers.
There was something so deeply human and warm about that gentlemen and the encounter, as though the act of creating art in such harsh conditions was its own kind of poetry. The simplicity of it—a man, a typewriter, and fleeting words spun into something beautiful—stayed with me. While I still jot down little notes on my phone, I often find myself erasing and rewriting, never fully satisfied with what I’ve written. But I haven’t let my love for writing fade. Over the past two years, I poured myself into reading great literature. I’ve built a collection of books – short stories, historical fiction, motivational works, and biographies. This has profoundly shaped my perspective on the world. I learned that to be a consistently good writer, I must immerse myself in great books.
While walking the street of Philly, I often see a older man outside nearby a bookstore, engrossed in a book – sometimes reading, sometimes drawing, and occasionally reading the bible. His quiet devotion to literature reminds me of my childhood, when I carried a book with me everywhere I went. In school, I had a favorite spot in class where I could escape into stories. That habit made it easier to rekindle my love for reading later in life. Especially after moving to Philly, it took me a bit to adjust this new transition in my life. Books become my refugee, offering me solace, wisdom, and a sense of belonging in an unfamiliar world.
Literature is incredibly powerful; it reflects our values, dreams, passions, and fears. The stories we choose to read shape who we are and how we view the world. This connection to literature is especially evident when we look through the lens of history. For instance, the German civilians who were forced to burn books during the rise of anti-Semitism. It’s a painful reminder of how much is lost we silences voices and suppress ideas. With everything happening in the world today, it’s a warning that still resonates.And yet, even in the harshest conditions, stories endure-whether through a man typing poems for strangers, an older gentleman lost in a book outside a bookstore, or child escaping into pages during class. Writing, like reading, is an act of preservation, a way to hold on to what matters. Perhaps that’s why, even after a year of silence, I find myself here, trying to shape words into something that lasts.
With Abba 