As I was talking to a familiar acquaintance a couple days ago about where I lived (Pasadena, btw) I realized this year marks my 10th year in Los Angeles.

It's been a crazy ride, I must say. I first hated LA, then loved it, then I got claustrophobic when it felt too small, then it felt like I could do anything here, then I loved it again. The city is chock-full of opportunities for adventure and learning.

I think that calls for a celebration! 10 years! That's hardcore commitment yo, coming from someone who went to three different high schools in three different countries. 


My first journal, Christmas present from my parents, in 1995:

I am no writer, but I write all the time.
It comes from a place far beyond where my fleeting hobbies and musings reside. Beyond the valley of likings and the sea of duties lay my life-long bond with writing.
I write because I have to. Writing is breathing.

I write to dream, to dissect, build and search.
It helps me figure out why the world looks the way it does. Why it smells the way it does. Why it moves and reflects light and casts shadows the way it does. 

And most of the time, it helps me align my heart with my brain.
It's a way of life for me, and I'm glad I chose the pen.

the post that prompted this post.