Life, life, O life.

What a fickle friend and fickle foe you are.

The time in Canada was bliss. Rapturous bliss. And again, I am faced with the cutting wind of unsure roads to take. What to do? Do I need to carve the words “Think, pray” on my wrist?

I hope and wish and pray and consider. I so hope the next few months of my life are smooth. Smooth in transition.

Life, life, O often odious life. What will you throw at my doorstep? My “Welcome” doormat is out. It’s not the kind with the stiff bristles, no. It’s vibrant with colours of green and purple, and it’s been put out there in hopes that it will attract equally effervescent company.

Are you listening, Life? I’m ready. At least I think I am. And even if I am not as prepared as I’d like to be, thinking that I am is enough for me right now.

Are you listening?

I’m ready.

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