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In my last post – which, by the way, happened way before earth completed its last lap around the sun, I wrote why I wanted to write.

Today, I was resolved to resurrect my WordPress login. Perhaps I want to make myself accountable to write, life has its way to bounce us around. Now a full time working mother of two precious kids, I have far lesser time and far more rungs in this ladder of heaping emotions. I haven’t seen my parents in over 6 months, and will likely not able to meet them until another year due to the Coronavirus pandemic. Appa and appa are pushing 70 and 75 this year, their aging gait and prospect alone tugs my heart several times a day. I finally feel a certain contentment and somewhat acute awareness of my self, a greater understanding of my depression, anger and anxiety. I have a full time job and enjoy the work. I regret leaving academic research a lot lesser. I am also aware of my aging family back home, and my family goes beyond my parents. Of that of a household. Of a banyan-like home to over two dozen peoples’ tightly intertwined undulating lives. My close uncle, my loving, kind, selfless patriarch uncle, is now battling bladder cancer and that breaks my heart. I need to pass on the stories of my family to my kids. They need to know. And for this, I need to write.