Well I'm back. Returning from that arduous climb I find myself back in the midst of a heated discussion between fellow classmates. It seems, from what I can glean of their hellish English majors speak, there is a niche for blank-American writing (fill in the blank with your ethnicity). This is great news for me, a wannabe writer, who has her own story to tell about the rough childhood, the loose adolescence, the struggle to find my footing in a place that has its own idea of who fits in. Would be a great movie, huh? haha. Aren't we all sick and tired with the "confessional" style by now? Yes I know you're life, it's the same everywhere else. Perhaps i just happen to be wearing my defeatist face at the moment. There are too many obstacles from where I'm standing, too many of my own insecurities blocking my view of the forest. Perhaps another hike across the globe... This time to the falls of Victoria, (rightly named after my pretty kitty). Who contemplates majestically the meaning of life. And in the midst of the humid, jungle the sounds of the ever present insects humming in my ears, there is a faint thunder. I fear a coming storm approaching, but my guide wears a smile on his face at my apprehension. He beckons me to follow and the thundering reaches a crescendo. Through a gap in the serpentine vines, I am blinded by the...
Rich tells me that it's too cliche. Good.