Writing is an exploration. You start from nothing and you learn as you go.

Nothing is exactly what has been written here at the heap. in a very, very long time. How I’ve missed writing for heapsters around the globe. I’ve missed writing for myself. Writing is indeed an exploration- not only as a palpable transcription of one’s own exploration of heart, mind and body. It involves a literal exploration of life. As the year was winding down, I had lost my way. Trapped by the snares of overwhelming responsibily, it seemed that perhaps the fire behind my prolific writing would at last come to a insignificant, smoldering end.

The world can do that to you. To any one.

Time becomes a valued commodity in one’s day, and all of the sudden tons of tasks can be done before, or dare I say, instead of writing. Oh yes, sometimes a day can leave a dirty, bitter taste in your mouth. You come home from whatever it is- be it school or work, and you just start feeling like a heap.

Don’t get me wrong. I absolutely love what I do in my life. But you can’t also forget to do what you love. You can’t be buried under any sort of heap, whether it be PAP applications, prescriptions, Constitutional Law books, or even literally trash bags. In the end, it’s all just one heap of excuses.

Love what you, and do what you love.

For me, it’s writing here, adding on to my little heap of posts in cyberspace.

One post at a time.