main character

we assume we’re the main characters of our own stories.

we are, after all, the centre of everything we experience. and everyone has a story.

we don’t know it any other way.

but then something happens that makes us wonder

if we’re like nick carraway,

the sidekick in someone else’s fairytale.

what are we, really?

violin

 practicing is so tedious. practice the shift until you get it and then practice it some more. you’re not done

until it’s perfect, but it’s so worth it. isn’t it? the moment you get on stage and see 

the lights dim and hear the sounds beginning, it’s worth it. the moment you hear “well

done” from the person who matters the most, it’s worth it. the moment 

you feel the tears running down your cheeks because of how beautiful

the music is, it’s worth it. this thing you love,

it is hard, but you do it anyway 

because you love it. you couldn’t

imagine living without it.

thank you,

God.

the child i used to be

sometimes i miss 

the child i used to be. 

yes, i was alone

and yes, i was naïve, 

but i didn’t care.

i didn’t care

what others thought, 

what they thought of me 

or who i was. 

i just was.

i was innocent.

trusting.

pure in heart.

i miss her, that little girl

who saw the world

so clearly

but herself

saw not at all.