A story is told, from a land far away from here, of a man who had a dog. The dog was an Akita breed, and as time went by the two became loyal friends – a dog and its human. The man was a lecturer at a university in Tokyo, and the dog used to accompany him to the train station every morning where he would board a train to work, then later pick him up from the same station in the evening. One day, the man would board a train as usual, but this time he was not going to return back home. The dog went to the train station in the evening to wait for him, not knowing that his friend was never going to come back. He waited and waited and waited  Disappointed but unbowed, he trudged back to the place he had always called home. Every day henceforth, and for the rest of his life, he would go to the train station every evening to wait for his friend.

This story is for you who came here every week for a story. For the past three months, there have been no stories here, not because there have been none to be told or written, but because life happened. I could take you down the path filled with excuses on why I haven’t written for this long – all in an attempt to appease you, but you know what they say, that the path to hell is filled with good intentions, so let us agree not to take this path lest we find ourselves in hell, OK?

Anyway, apart from myself being a deadbeat blogger who takes a leave of absence from his passion, what’s good with you guys? Being back here feels like getting back from a long journey around the world. A journey which you did not premeditate on taking but did anyway. You succumbed to the burning urge to discover what lies on the other side of life, therefore, one bright morning, you woke up and said fuck this shit, packed up your bags and even though you didn’t have enough cash to trot around the globe, decided that you would find the means, because you are that person who isn’t subdued by challenges. You are a believer, the last of a dying breed, a relentless stubborn being who strongly believes that if you really want something then the whole universe conspires to help you achieve it.

So with your life savings, you left the place you have always called home and thrust yourself into the unknown to indulge your curiosity and subsequently cool the desire to discover. As time went by, you grew, and with that growth, you learnt that the more you indulge your curiosity, the more it grows, which is not really a bad thing, only that you miss home so much and want to return to the comfort of family, passion and love. So you woke up one morning and again said fuck this shit, packed your bags and started the journey back home.

And that is how you found yourself back home once again, in that humble abode you ran from, and it suddenly hit you that nothing would ever beat the satisfaction of being home with the people that care enough to love you back, or being settled in your own space doing what you love.

Here you are now, at home, with dust on your shoes and sweat on your brow, your bags by your feet.

What do you do now?

Even though you are tired, you begin cleaning out your home – wiping off the dust that had settled on your panes of your windows from where you used to watch the sunset every evening, then clearing the cobwebs that had been spun on the white soft-board ceiling you used to stare at well into the night when you couldn’t catch any sleep.

Then you make yourself a cup of coffee, settle down on the couch with your favorite book in your hand and your favorite music playing in the background, and before anything else, you take a deep sigh and promise never to leave again.



The chronic late comer

Power Nap

One Day I’ll Write Again

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