'Love, the life-giving garden of this world'. By Rumi.
May your light shine through night and day.
Returning to London ten days ago, like a wounded soldier, I hardly felt any pain, physical or otherwise.
We are all soldiers marching in this life;
Each battling through a journey of our own
There are brighter days, lonesome nights
The joy a friend can bring, the baring of a shame
Times of questioning, reflecting and reviewing
The turning of the universe or a rainbow's glow
From tornado to tsunami, destruction of nature
A smile from a child, the angry-looking stranger
A rose garden of shades liven the soil
Flooding in one corner, deserts left waterless
Diamond flashing limo, despair of a milk-less mother
From maximum to minimum, the world has lost its power
What is there left to do but prayer and hope
Love is the answer, the question, our being on earth
To God, I turn.
'Scribblings of thoughts'.
In all moments of life, as a reality check, it is necessary to be aware of what is happening around us: healthy thinking.
On that note, I must say the diet that follows gall bladder removal is a killer! For someone who has felt blessed to eat and drink everything I have always wanted to, now comes a time when all is forbidden. It has been superb enjoying all the rich food, the outstanding collection of wines and champagnes, and those mouth-watering passion fruit martinis, never mind my latest taste for caipirinhas. All the lovely friends' cooking. No more Indian food?! Que? Really?! Oh yeah, baby. But I love salads... What, without any dressing? Thank goodness for balsamic! And there is so much else to enjoy that all I have to do is change my diet. My first thing upon arrival was to call a dietitian, and she would sort me out with bright ideas, I am sure.
As Aisha remarked: "Ah! So, finally, your always-full fridge is empty now."
My response: "Not at all, Darling. I went to a nutritionist, got a list of what I could eat, and headed straight to Waitrose (supermarket). Now my fridge is bursting again! With fruit and vegetables."
Let's move back to my return from JFK to London.
Elliot, being the considerate friend he is, ordered us a limo (that's what they call a minicab in the US, so it turned out) and on the day, a run-down large, typical American car with the grumpiest of drivers turned up to drive us from Southampton to JFK.
When the burgundy colour, almost falling into pieces car from hillbillies turned up, I turned to Elliot and asked: "Darling, didn't you say we ordered a 'limo'?!"
My friend laughed and answered: "No, Darling. A limo here is just a minicab for you guys."
At the airport, once we said our goodbyes, I had fun being wheeled around by the airport porter (it was only six days since my operation, to be fair), almost right to the door of the plane, missing out the queue for passport control, zoom zoom and the first to get on the plane. Cool. I even missed out on any shopping! I would not want to make that into a habit, though. Arriving in London's semi-sunny morning on Thursday, less a gall bladder, still made me feel happy to be home again. I lay on my bed, recovering from the long flight and phone playing with friends and family. There was a flight to be caught to Ibiza the following Friday evening, so it was time for quick decision-making. Shall I go or shall I not?
The phone conversation with Jill on the afternoon of my arrival home helped me make my mind up on going. She said:
"Kelly and I'll pick you up on the way to Gatwick Express, and you're not allowed to lift a thing."
And that was precisely what happened. The evening flight was easy (but not easy jet, thank goodness), and the three of us sat in a row as though going on a school trip, just as jolly and excited. Ernest had already arrived with Daren to ensure everything was for his guests to descend to the magnificent holiday villa. The kind of modern, white, grey, wood, bluest infinity pool, slick black sunbeds, ice-making machine, comfy bed, basically the type of house one sees in glossy magazines or in particular search on homes on a computer screen. This was to be our residence for the next four days! Wow. I would have been a fool to miss that for a mere few stitches! And this has not even begun to tell you about the superb company we kept in those surroundings. Heavenly is the only word that comes to mind.
One of my fond memories of the trip was Ernest driving, Kelly in the passenger seat, and I sitting in the middle of the back seat, enjoying the drive back from the hippie beach while the sun was about to set. The sky was clouds of colour in the most peachy, orangy, pinky way appearing through a dark greyish blue sky and those fields we passed, green with trees, the soil shouting in its true meaning of the word and the hills behind, all lit up with a yellow, orange shine that no lens could possibly capture, and radio Sonica of Ibiza playing the most excellent version of 'Love to Love You Baby', I danced sitting in the back, letting my hands-free to reach outside each window of the car, then turned to my friends equally high with the vibes of Ibiza and said:
"Wow! This is like driving through Heaven... The Heavenly Drive. I wanna die in Ibiza." When Kelly gave me that look with the right eyebrow lifted and a questioning smile, I quickly corrected myself:
"Not now! In many, many years to come. I wanna live here first."
'Isn't it funny that we can't choose where we are born or die?' And yet, we are in charge of our destiny?
We are born alone, we live alone, and we die alone. We have no choice in our place of birth nor where we fail. Except for the people who are born in a place and die there, never having left. Then why do some people think they are so in control? Control of what? Why not just let go of the flow? Why complicate things when they can be simplified?
Is pain a state of mind?
I once watched a program about people who did not feel any kind of physical pain or burn, which was dangerous as they could have a severe problem like a gall bladder and would not feel any discomfort, which could prove hazardous.
Oh! My God, I do get carried away with thoughts. My blogs are turning into chapters!
On the first night, upon arrival in 'the' villa I described earlier, the group of exquisite people gathered around, lounging in the balcony as equally as hanging around the kitchen, with a fully-stocked American fridge to feed an army and chatted away, each expressing our joy at being there. I finally managed to head to bed in the late night hours (sounds better than the early morning hours!). Six hours of sleep was great. Descended to the pool, where most beds had been occupied by early risers laying around, so I dipped my feet in the cooling blue hanging pool and breathed in the warmth of the sunshine.
Friday night was the evening of hitting the clubs. In this latest number from my NYC shopping expedition of a white-based, colourful tunic with white, lacy leggings, my feelings were as happy as the bright tones of the mini dress I wore.
We arrived nearer to the closing time of 11:00pm, while the Ushuaia Pool Party started at 7:00pm. I enjoyed the Spanish DJ's music. Before they closed at midnight, we left in our group of magnificent eleven and went on to Pacha, where Giovanni had a table booked in the VIP. Despite being eight days after my operation, I stuck it up in the club till about 5:00am. Going well.
May your light shine through night and day.
Returning to London ten days ago, like a wounded soldier, I hardly felt any pain, physical or otherwise.
We are all soldiers marching in this life;
Each battling through a journey of our own
There are brighter days, lonesome nights
The joy a friend can bring, the baring of a shame
Times of questioning, reflecting and reviewing
The turning of the universe or a rainbow's glow
From tornado to tsunami, destruction of nature
A smile from a child, the angry-looking stranger
A rose garden of shades liven the soil
Flooding in one corner, deserts left waterless
Diamond flashing limo, despair of a milk-less mother
From maximum to minimum, the world has lost its power
What is there left to do but prayer and hope
Love is the answer, the question, our being on earth
To God, I turn.
'Scribblings of thoughts'.
In all moments of life, as a reality check, it is necessary to be aware of what is happening around us: healthy thinking.
On that note, I must say the diet that follows gall bladder removal is a killer! For someone who has felt blessed to eat and drink everything I have always wanted to, now comes a time when all is forbidden. It has been superb enjoying all the rich food, the outstanding collection of wines and champagnes, and those mouth-watering passion fruit martinis, never mind my latest taste for caipirinhas. All the lovely friends' cooking. No more Indian food?! Que? Really?! Oh yeah, baby. But I love salads... What, without any dressing? Thank goodness for balsamic! And there is so much else to enjoy that all I have to do is change my diet. My first thing upon arrival was to call a dietitian, and she would sort me out with bright ideas, I am sure.
As Aisha remarked: "Ah! So, finally, your always-full fridge is empty now."
My response: "Not at all, Darling. I went to a nutritionist, got a list of what I could eat, and headed straight to Waitrose (supermarket). Now my fridge is bursting again! With fruit and vegetables."
Let's move back to my return from JFK to London.
Elliot, being the considerate friend he is, ordered us a limo (that's what they call a minicab in the US, so it turned out) and on the day, a run-down large, typical American car with the grumpiest of drivers turned up to drive us from Southampton to JFK.
When the burgundy colour, almost falling into pieces car from hillbillies turned up, I turned to Elliot and asked: "Darling, didn't you say we ordered a 'limo'?!"
My friend laughed and answered: "No, Darling. A limo here is just a minicab for you guys."
At the airport, once we said our goodbyes, I had fun being wheeled around by the airport porter (it was only six days since my operation, to be fair), almost right to the door of the plane, missing out the queue for passport control, zoom zoom and the first to get on the plane. Cool. I even missed out on any shopping! I would not want to make that into a habit, though. Arriving in London's semi-sunny morning on Thursday, less a gall bladder, still made me feel happy to be home again. I lay on my bed, recovering from the long flight and phone playing with friends and family. There was a flight to be caught to Ibiza the following Friday evening, so it was time for quick decision-making. Shall I go or shall I not?
The phone conversation with Jill on the afternoon of my arrival home helped me make my mind up on going. She said:
"Kelly and I'll pick you up on the way to Gatwick Express, and you're not allowed to lift a thing."
And that was precisely what happened. The evening flight was easy (but not easy jet, thank goodness), and the three of us sat in a row as though going on a school trip, just as jolly and excited. Ernest had already arrived with Daren to ensure everything was for his guests to descend to the magnificent holiday villa. The kind of modern, white, grey, wood, bluest infinity pool, slick black sunbeds, ice-making machine, comfy bed, basically the type of house one sees in glossy magazines or in particular search on homes on a computer screen. This was to be our residence for the next four days! Wow. I would have been a fool to miss that for a mere few stitches! And this has not even begun to tell you about the superb company we kept in those surroundings. Heavenly is the only word that comes to mind.
One of my fond memories of the trip was Ernest driving, Kelly in the passenger seat, and I sitting in the middle of the back seat, enjoying the drive back from the hippie beach while the sun was about to set. The sky was clouds of colour in the most peachy, orangy, pinky way appearing through a dark greyish blue sky and those fields we passed, green with trees, the soil shouting in its true meaning of the word and the hills behind, all lit up with a yellow, orange shine that no lens could possibly capture, and radio Sonica of Ibiza playing the most excellent version of 'Love to Love You Baby', I danced sitting in the back, letting my hands-free to reach outside each window of the car, then turned to my friends equally high with the vibes of Ibiza and said:
"Wow! This is like driving through Heaven... The Heavenly Drive. I wanna die in Ibiza." When Kelly gave me that look with the right eyebrow lifted and a questioning smile, I quickly corrected myself:
"Not now! In many, many years to come. I wanna live here first."
'Isn't it funny that we can't choose where we are born or die?' And yet, we are in charge of our destiny?
We are born alone, we live alone, and we die alone. We have no choice in our place of birth nor where we fail. Except for the people who are born in a place and die there, never having left. Then why do some people think they are so in control? Control of what? Why not just let go of the flow? Why complicate things when they can be simplified?
Is pain a state of mind?
I once watched a program about people who did not feel any kind of physical pain or burn, which was dangerous as they could have a severe problem like a gall bladder and would not feel any discomfort, which could prove hazardous.
Oh! My God, I do get carried away with thoughts. My blogs are turning into chapters!
On the first night, upon arrival in 'the' villa I described earlier, the group of exquisite people gathered around, lounging in the balcony as equally as hanging around the kitchen, with a fully-stocked American fridge to feed an army and chatted away, each expressing our joy at being there. I finally managed to head to bed in the late night hours (sounds better than the early morning hours!). Six hours of sleep was great. Descended to the pool, where most beds had been occupied by early risers laying around, so I dipped my feet in the cooling blue hanging pool and breathed in the warmth of the sunshine.
Friday night was the evening of hitting the clubs. In this latest number from my NYC shopping expedition of a white-based, colourful tunic with white, lacy leggings, my feelings were as happy as the bright tones of the mini dress I wore.
We arrived nearer to the closing time of 11:00pm, while the Ushuaia Pool Party started at 7:00pm. I enjoyed the Spanish DJ's music. Before they closed at midnight, we left in our group of magnificent eleven and went on to Pacha, where Giovanni had a table booked in the VIP. Despite being eight days after my operation, I stuck it up in the club till about 5:00am. Going well.
Saturday, we were booked for lunch at the Blue Marlin. Well, as many times as I have visited Ibiza, I had never made it to this beach club/bar till this time, and although we had fun, I don't think I would bother going again. A bit too busy and chichi for my newly hippie-acquired liking.
Keep thinking of all the love I felt around me, the feeling of peace and harmony, which helped my recovery by at least fifty per cent. What do I owe the strength to go on and an energy-filled life? It's from these friends who make my life sooooo worth living. When I say my friends, my family are a large part of my friends, and my friends are my family. There is no difference.
My two most wonderful spliff-sharing partners in crime had both quit smoking but gave me the pleasure of sharing those puffs and giggling. There is a particular love that is transmitted through passing that joint. It's not encouraging anything. I recalled the bouncy, busty nurse at Southampton Hospital asking me a few questions in the emergency cubicle before surgery; I confessed:
"... And I smoke a little weed."
She simply puffed away and answered: "Ah! You and the rest of America."
I smilingly added: "Me and the rest of the world, it seems."
OOooopsy! I ran away with my thoughts again.
Yes, my super buddies, Sydney and Denzel. Sydney had been so warm and super friendly since the first time we met now; seeing him for the third time, our friendship had grown in time to the most amiable of hugs a girl could get. As for his partner, Denzel... Goodness, the guy is so cutely handsome; I could have bitten him a few times, but I did keep my teeth to myself.
Ernest was as MDAaaamazing a host as anyone could be and made us feel superbly at home and all in love with one another. Now, that's what I call a super host: my superhero.
At the beginning of our journey, my travel companions, whom I feel are sisters from a past life, are now rekindled: Kelly and Jill.
Kelly's remark when she tells me in that sweet accent and naughty tone makes me laugh every time:
"Haldita, I love how you talk about 'life before the revolution and how everything was glamorous and amazing', then go on to... 'After the revolution, everything changed for the worse. This clergy of a man showed up, and the country began mourning. All I want to know is, 'Who the hell invited him?! We didn't know he existed!" Kelly continued, "I wish I had a revolution to discuss."
Jill managed to break a few glasses along the way, then onto making sure there was no trace of crystal in sight. In Pacha, she came to me to confess: "You know, I just broke another glass!"
I couldn't stop laughing, responding: "Good Darling. Glad you're reporting. They say breaking glass keeps the evil eye away!"
Then there was Daniel with that body to die for (the guy doesn't stop going to the gym, even on holiday in Ibiza, no wonder), those blue eyes and a wicked sense of humour. He was accompanied by his partner Richie, whom I have not had the proper chance of connecting with yet, but he sure made an excellent tomato and mozzarella salad which I could not touch but admired his artistic skills in the kitchen; a boyish beauty whose few remarks showed a certain wisdom.
My introduction to the newlyweds whom I had met in the countryside a month earlier had not entirely left the mark it now has since this more extended trip. Barby and Ken were joined by the bride's best friend, Rose, with whom we bonded as we shared experiences and travels. I did tell them a few mad stories.
Last but certainly not least was Daren, with whom we had spent a trip in Croatia getting acquainted, and I was only just beginning to acquire a taste for his sense of somewhat sarcastic humour; not in any way crude, just funny.
Some of the best times were spent on the Hippie Beach. There was such an excellent air in the breeze, remarkable because of the way people made it feel. As soon as the boutique on the island was spotted by yours, I glanced at my new shopping buddy, Barby, and ooopsy la! We needed to get to the shop faster. The stunning girl there assisted me patiently while I got a souvenir for everyone from our group. Then came the smile of the man behind the counter, who must have owned the trendy space. I found myself sighing aloud:
"Ah! Look at you both. You're SO gorgeous!"
The handsome creature warmly said: "You must come back and visit us. You must."
And I will, was my immediate response.
Then, there was the Latina masseuse whom the crew had met on their first day on the Hippie Beach; she had come to release any pressure from everyone's body and mind, playing Balinese-like, soothing music while rubbing the oil deep into the flesh with magical movements of her knuckles and wrists. I sat on the sofa on the balcony, high above the green scenery below, next to the square low-level pool of large white stones, shining with tones of varied colour changing with music and watched the sun set amongst the leaves in the trees far away. At the same time, the breeze of the air brushed against my skin. Although I was not allowed a massage, I felt it through Elisa's vibes as though she had her hands on my back. When I met her properly in the kitchen to thank her for the experience, she gave me the warmest hug a stranger could provide. What a delightful girl, and she felt my energy too.
My dream is to live and then retire in Ibiza. One day.
Flying back from Dreamland, the reality check came when I got to the door of my home. But then I smiled, knowing my Boy stayed with me for a while.
London is a place I cannot rest! It was great having had that super break. My first appointment on the day of arrival was a badly needed manicure pedicure. The following day, I had booked myself from early morning at 10:30am with my kinesiologist to prescribe the best vitamins a body would need after surgery, followed by a visit to the nutritionist for a good regime and finally the new cute dentist, who assured me I was doing good for a while to come. Health comes first.
The table at Fabric was cancelled on Saturday, and needed to rest, so on Friday, Qadir was in town, and I asked Sirena to join us for dinner at Sketch, sitting at the bar. The place had changed drastically since I regularly went there on the Saturday before heading to Fabric at 2:00am some years ago. The good old days! This time, we had dinner, then retired to the round bar under the egg toilets, where Mademoiselle Jayne was DJing some super cool tunes. So, as Qadir left to rest and be ready for his football match the following day, Ali joined us girls, and we danced till the closing hour of 2:30am. On high heels, too! Ayayaya.
Saturday was spent going around the antique markets of Alfie and Golborne Road around Notting Hill with Robby, who was looking for a couple of chandeliers. The afternoon outing ended with a late lunch at E&O's. I got home, only to get a text from Aisha asking whether I would like to join her, Risha and Kristel for the latest Woody Allen movie. Of course, I agreed, and she picked me up, only to get to the sold-out cinema! As the four of us drove around, we managed to get to the only film left showing at 9:00pm, the Belgium movie; 'Untouchables' as Aisha and Kristel had seen the previous night; they left me and Risha to watch this funny, inspiring movie which almost left me 'out of' my stitches! And yet, it touched me with feelings of 'Aaah! And Oooh!'s all over. That is me and everyone in the movie theatre.
I told Aisha before she left us at the cinema: "Darling. Thank you for being such a wonderful friend. You came to pick me up, drive me around, bring me to watch this amazing movie, and then leave."
Aisha barely looked my way and said: "Fuck you!" Haha.
Friendship is Love... Love is Friendship.
Have I made bad judgements along my journey? Done wrong? Lost at times? Oh God, yes.
Any regrets? No. Anything I would change? No. Simply because this is my path, my learning and my journey. I accept it and expect it to be no other way. It is what it is, and I must keep learning and moving on...
 | |
| I.B.I.Z.A. |
 | ||
| Blue Marlin Beach at Night |
 |
| PACHA - Ibiza |
My two most wonderful spliff-sharing partners in crime had both quit smoking but gave me the pleasure of sharing those puffs and giggling. There is a particular love that is transmitted through passing that joint. It's not encouraging anything. I recalled the bouncy, busty nurse at Southampton Hospital asking me a few questions in the emergency cubicle before surgery; I confessed:
"... And I smoke a little weed."
She simply puffed away and answered: "Ah! You and the rest of America."
I smilingly added: "Me and the rest of the world, it seems."
OOooopsy! I ran away with my thoughts again.
Yes, my super buddies, Sydney and Denzel. Sydney had been so warm and super friendly since the first time we met now; seeing him for the third time, our friendship had grown in time to the most amiable of hugs a girl could get. As for his partner, Denzel... Goodness, the guy is so cutely handsome; I could have bitten him a few times, but I did keep my teeth to myself.
Ernest was as MDAaaamazing a host as anyone could be and made us feel superbly at home and all in love with one another. Now, that's what I call a super host: my superhero.
At the beginning of our journey, my travel companions, whom I feel are sisters from a past life, are now rekindled: Kelly and Jill.
Kelly's remark when she tells me in that sweet accent and naughty tone makes me laugh every time:
"Haldita, I love how you talk about 'life before the revolution and how everything was glamorous and amazing', then go on to... 'After the revolution, everything changed for the worse. This clergy of a man showed up, and the country began mourning. All I want to know is, 'Who the hell invited him?! We didn't know he existed!" Kelly continued, "I wish I had a revolution to discuss."
Jill managed to break a few glasses along the way, then onto making sure there was no trace of crystal in sight. In Pacha, she came to me to confess: "You know, I just broke another glass!"
I couldn't stop laughing, responding: "Good Darling. Glad you're reporting. They say breaking glass keeps the evil eye away!"
Then there was Daniel with that body to die for (the guy doesn't stop going to the gym, even on holiday in Ibiza, no wonder), those blue eyes and a wicked sense of humour. He was accompanied by his partner Richie, whom I have not had the proper chance of connecting with yet, but he sure made an excellent tomato and mozzarella salad which I could not touch but admired his artistic skills in the kitchen; a boyish beauty whose few remarks showed a certain wisdom.
My introduction to the newlyweds whom I had met in the countryside a month earlier had not entirely left the mark it now has since this more extended trip. Barby and Ken were joined by the bride's best friend, Rose, with whom we bonded as we shared experiences and travels. I did tell them a few mad stories.
Last but certainly not least was Daren, with whom we had spent a trip in Croatia getting acquainted, and I was only just beginning to acquire a taste for his sense of somewhat sarcastic humour; not in any way crude, just funny.
Some of the best times were spent on the Hippie Beach. There was such an excellent air in the breeze, remarkable because of the way people made it feel. As soon as the boutique on the island was spotted by yours, I glanced at my new shopping buddy, Barby, and ooopsy la! We needed to get to the shop faster. The stunning girl there assisted me patiently while I got a souvenir for everyone from our group. Then came the smile of the man behind the counter, who must have owned the trendy space. I found myself sighing aloud:
"Ah! Look at you both. You're SO gorgeous!"
The handsome creature warmly said: "You must come back and visit us. You must."
And I will, was my immediate response.
Then, there was the Latina masseuse whom the crew had met on their first day on the Hippie Beach; she had come to release any pressure from everyone's body and mind, playing Balinese-like, soothing music while rubbing the oil deep into the flesh with magical movements of her knuckles and wrists. I sat on the sofa on the balcony, high above the green scenery below, next to the square low-level pool of large white stones, shining with tones of varied colour changing with music and watched the sun set amongst the leaves in the trees far away. At the same time, the breeze of the air brushed against my skin. Although I was not allowed a massage, I felt it through Elisa's vibes as though she had her hands on my back. When I met her properly in the kitchen to thank her for the experience, she gave me the warmest hug a stranger could provide. What a delightful girl, and she felt my energy too.
My dream is to live and then retire in Ibiza. One day.
Flying back from Dreamland, the reality check came when I got to the door of my home. But then I smiled, knowing my Boy stayed with me for a while.
London is a place I cannot rest! It was great having had that super break. My first appointment on the day of arrival was a badly needed manicure pedicure. The following day, I had booked myself from early morning at 10:30am with my kinesiologist to prescribe the best vitamins a body would need after surgery, followed by a visit to the nutritionist for a good regime and finally the new cute dentist, who assured me I was doing good for a while to come. Health comes first.
The table at Fabric was cancelled on Saturday, and needed to rest, so on Friday, Qadir was in town, and I asked Sirena to join us for dinner at Sketch, sitting at the bar. The place had changed drastically since I regularly went there on the Saturday before heading to Fabric at 2:00am some years ago. The good old days! This time, we had dinner, then retired to the round bar under the egg toilets, where Mademoiselle Jayne was DJing some super cool tunes. So, as Qadir left to rest and be ready for his football match the following day, Ali joined us girls, and we danced till the closing hour of 2:30am. On high heels, too! Ayayaya.
Saturday was spent going around the antique markets of Alfie and Golborne Road around Notting Hill with Robby, who was looking for a couple of chandeliers. The afternoon outing ended with a late lunch at E&O's. I got home, only to get a text from Aisha asking whether I would like to join her, Risha and Kristel for the latest Woody Allen movie. Of course, I agreed, and she picked me up, only to get to the sold-out cinema! As the four of us drove around, we managed to get to the only film left showing at 9:00pm, the Belgium movie; 'Untouchables' as Aisha and Kristel had seen the previous night; they left me and Risha to watch this funny, inspiring movie which almost left me 'out of' my stitches! And yet, it touched me with feelings of 'Aaah! And Oooh!'s all over. That is me and everyone in the movie theatre.
I told Aisha before she left us at the cinema: "Darling. Thank you for being such a wonderful friend. You came to pick me up, drive me around, bring me to watch this amazing movie, and then leave."
Aisha barely looked my way and said: "Fuck you!" Haha.
Friendship is Love... Love is Friendship.
Have I made bad judgements along my journey? Done wrong? Lost at times? Oh God, yes.
Any regrets? No. Anything I would change? No. Simply because this is my path, my learning and my journey. I accept it and expect it to be no other way. It is what it is, and I must keep learning and moving on...
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