Quest

With a raised eyebrow and a dramatic sigh, I can almost hear my inner critic whispering, “Really, Nariman? Blogging? As if you don’t have laundry, deadlines, existential questions, and three tabs open?”

Yet, I begin anyway.

At first, it feels awkward. My fingers hover over the keyboard like guests who’ve accidentally stumbled into the wrong party but are too polite to leave. Tap. Pause. Delete. Tap again. After years of practical living, writing feels like trying to salsa dance in sensible shoes. Necessary? No. Liberating? Suspiciously, yes.

Somewhere between responsibility and routine, many of us have quietly misplaced our sense of wonder. We traded sunsets, daydreams, and curiosity for sensibility, duty, and calendars that resemble overbooked hotel lobbies. We became efficient, reliable, and productive, but life turned a little beige, punctuated only by sporadic bursts of brilliance.

This is my awkward attempt at reconnecting with my soul. It’s choosing to lie in until 11 a.m. on a Thursday, contemplating the silence while tapping keys. It’s noticing how light gently spills into my space as I recline, the laptop resting precariously on thick thighs. It’s laughing at my own laziness and acknowledging the grumble in my stomach that signals I’m fasting.

The truth we rarely articulate is this: a life devoid of beauty, curiosity, and expression may be functional, but it is spiritually lacking. We need to get our hands dirty planting sunflowers and peppers just for the joy of it, or molding clay until it transforms into something delightful or even ugly. We should pen words at tiny cafés, knowing they might one day be read by strangers long after the ink has dried.

So, here I am, writing. Just because.

This is my salvation and my sanity. It is an expression of my essence. I write to remember and to process. I write because staying curious is the key to longevity. I write because words are a powerful weapon, capable of good in a world where they have often been used to hurt and betray. And yes, I write because I hope to approach old age with breath in my lungs and fire in my spirit.

If you, too, feel buried under the weight of everyday living, consider this your invitation:

• Paint something badly.
• Walk somewhere aimlessly.
• Start a project you might abandon.
• Sing off-key.
• Ask questions that have no practical use.

Feed your soul like it matters... because it does. Productivity may run the world, but it’s the little things that underpin it all: handing out hugs, crafting handmade gifts, or composing a poem for a loved one.

And if anyone asks why, just tell them my friend says it’s soul food.