Today, I return to writing. I welcome myself back to my first love.
But this time, I am a new person. Months, and even years ago, I wrote on this as a woman uncertain of what to be and who to become. I am still uncertain of so many things now. Yet, this time, I just want to type the words I hear and feel on and on as if they were really meant to be read sometime by me or by someone I don't know.
I don't know how the words will ring in someone else's mind. But I have to let my fingers utter them, so I can rest my own hustling mind.
A new mother's brain, they say, tends to be forgetful and cluttered. And so? It is still a brain. And perhaps, something could be glimpsed from my end. It is not so easy to be a different person now. To be a mom, after having been on my own for 28 years is a magical, almost fantastical experience. I never thought that the real world could be this--- inexplicably incapable of being understood. How can the same body be different persons all at once?
Motherhood gives me a different persona. Yet I am still this.
And I still want to write.
-h
