This might not be the old school pen and paper type of writing, but I feel some type of way right now as I write. It's a mixture of so many emotions rushing through me as do electric waves. I could use lots of words to describe how I feel as I write.
I'm sad. Sad because for a long time I've let go of the one thing that made me happy in search of other things that offered a whirlwind excitement, and now I'm back begging to be accepted back. Do I still possess the same skills I used to have? Will writing take me back and be one with me like we used to be? I wonder.
I'm happy. I've got that prodigal son feeling of I know I've been away but it feels good to be home again. The magical world in my head, that had been shut down are opening up and I'm beginning to see all the images I had been missing. I don't think I want to leave this place anytime soon.
I'm scared too. What kind of writer am I going to be now? I was young when I stopped writing. When I stopped imagining the world I wanted to create on paper. Times have changed and I have grown. I'm wondering if I'll be able to think and write like a grown up or still live in the teenage fairytale I used to dream of years back. Will the people who loved my writing still love it or have they acquired different tastes now? Will I love my own work? Have the rules changed?
I could write about all that I'm feeling but I'll save it for another time. All I wanted to do was write something and this is it. My first piece after a very long time. I have to go do some breathing exercises to calm me down and I'll be back to write some more.

S.O
Imelda
Kenya.
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