Yesterday we celebrated a mass for the youth group of our parish. Participation was voluntary. Going by the notion that our youth are famous to give cold shoulder to prayers or a mass given a chance, I was not expecting much participation. And to my pleasant surprise the group members did turn up for the mass in significant numbers and also enjoyed the experience. Happy to be proven wrong and hope that the youth continue to be part of such experiences in the near future as well.
To be honest, I’m not sure. I didn’t have a plan for this. A few ideas popped into my head yesterday, but I let them slip away without writing them down. So now, I’m here, wondering... What should I write about? I’ve always admired how writers seem to find the words. They don’t just tell stories; they make sense of life. Whether it’s fiction, essays, or poems, their words flow effortlessly, drawing you into their world. It’s like magic—captivating and transformative. Somehow, they’ve mastered the craft of turning simple words into gems that stay with you long after you’ve read them. And then, there’s me. I just write. I let my thoughts spill out, raw and unfiltered, without much structure or thought. No carefully woven narrative, no grand flow—just whatever comes to mind. Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever get to the level of those writers who make it all seem so easy. Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. But right now, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m writing. I showed ...
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