Now, What?
In the heart of Europe, a little bit to the south, I am typing this. Correction: I am typing and deleting this, typing and deleting this, typing and deleting this. This is one of those posts which have occupied my drafts for the last few months. Each word in this post has been trying to find a meaning they can call their own but sometimes things just don’t work that way. Everything would be easier if we were all able to talk through our feelings, through no words. Words were made to limit us, I once read. But with no words, there would be no ambiguities and misunderstandings. And, come on, ambiguities and misunderstandings, at many points, often also trigger us to develop. So, what’s the limit anyway? I am writing this mostly because of my upcoming birthday. Birthdays are always filled with questions. The questions use to change from “what present do I get for my birthday?” to “what have I achieved up to this birthday?” We also change the address we send the questions to, we