Life, as an article. Full stop.

(#1LAAD): The Series of Life.

I wouldn’t be a real writer, hadn’t it been for my dear friend Yustac.

On whose umpteenth birthday, this article here is dedicated to. A very coordinated, intention to the ether that kept me going as a teenager, as well as a budding aspiring adult.

So far, he is the writer that i wrote to at all times, and especially in times of sheer trouble. He is the vanilla to my chocolate, the bass to my dreary drumrolls, the crumb to my harry. And so far, we are coordinated in our being merely a continent apart - except for the haunt that was the Music room in my convent school (we don’t call them that, but it felt like one). It was run by the nuns of Notre Dame, and was the origination of all my angst protocols, as my collared sweater-set atonement of bad writing had now astounded me to actually attest to. They liked me in the Creative Department than in the Physics Department - even as i had wanted to minor in post-newtonian quantum physics.

This swung me substantially to the eerie world of pens, and not just in the letter-writing sport-jocks that i found myself surrounded by. In between tennis and soccer and rowing sessions, i found my lithe stature to be split between library, pub, field, and river. Mostly pub. (But that line’s never gonna be read by my cousins so…my study group fixations are still sweet.)

So, the writing of bylines - me to fashion, is his to tech. Mostly, tech. And we both branched off to some finance, for pete’s sake. We were hippies as we could measure the lengths of hair we had in younger years. But, things is people and our allergy to money, can also help us organically understand these medium of exchanges to evaluate the real sense of growth that is focussed upon us, in times of real need. Or real duty, whichever comes first.

As a copywriter - which the heft of my early writing had stemmed from - the
sweatshops of commerce, in all its mediocrity. And then, the editorial bit. And finally, just re-layering/ layout/ content for digital pages. And when that wasn’t enough, the tinkered around with creating actual CMS’s that could possibly be better accorded to the actual writer’s experience of writing.

And the rest, is history.

(We sense a camaraderie in the offing. Oh, and he is Not russian beeteedubs.)