Dateline: Flic-en-Flac, Mauritius
Somewhere in the Indian Ocean
[I’ve always wanted to establish this kind of exotic dateline.]
Deadline: 5 mins
Writing, I’ve said before, can be a gift. I mean not as in an ability, but as a present, something bestowed on someone else.
Writing that is simple in structure, complex in depth and meaning, is like a bespoke shirt, custom made for the wearer.
It is a gift purchased not just with time and thought — like when I go to Takashimaya for Christmas shopping –, it’s a gift of concentrated time and thought, where resonance is key.
Words are transient in nature, read in the mind, forgotten the next, as life is lived from moment to moment. Yet these words and what they mean find permanence in the mind.
It bestows memory and significance where before there might have been little, if at all.
And when we are old and done, we look at these words again. They form our history and these words we have crafted have in turn crafted us. This is all we have to keep.