It’s been almost 3 months since I turned 28 back in December, and we are here now in March of 2022 — with the world shifting around us at rates faster than we can imagine.
So here I am writing this now 28 years, and 3 months old. I didn’t really think I had wanted to detail my life until now — with my own world also changing at rates I find sometimes difficult to follow. I am not sure where this will lead, but the urge to write has been something I had tucked away for a long time. Tucked away in some inner corner of my heart which came out in moments of sheer fatigue. You know those moments — where you are questioning those times — what would have happened if I had said gone to that other school, what if you had moved to California like you had wanted, what if you had confessed to that one friend that you liked them more than as a friend back in your last year of college.
Anyways, that’s how I feel about writing — my favorite form of conversing and I want to give this a shot — let’s see where it goes — in the best outcome possible I am a published Judy B. Jones but a real version. Did Judy B. Jones write that series? — I’ll have to check. It makes me sad to think that reading for pleasure is diminishing. This original way of story telling that goes back who know how many millions of years. This is my attempt to leave a little authentic piece of my short time on this earth — my story, a story of a 28 year old Indian — American woman in New York City going through what feels like a few too many changes for my little heart to bear. I’ll warn you in advance for the theatrics(no doubt very much a product of watching too much Bollywood growing up) — but hope you enjoy these stories.
