Writing like it's coming home

Many moons ago, I had thought that I needed to be many things.

This? Or that? That or the other? Which way is which?

Cut to 2021 - battle-tested and frankly a bit jaded, all I can say that I want is to write.

Period.

To write words because it gives me life. A life that's all mine to savor.

To write for all the selfish reasons I can think of: to be part of the world, to start real conversations about real people and real problems, and break barriers.

To taste words like the adobo my father cooks. Or the burnt pancake my mother makes.

To write is to come home. To be reborn and be what I want. Finally.