Okay. This is it. Me time.

My name is irrelevant. I went to school and stuff. When I got bored of school, I went to work. And vice-versa. I did that for six years. All-encompassing, I am more ordinary than a bag of salted potato chips. In early 2017, I decided I need some Sriracha – who doesn’t love sriracha – in my life and started writing.

It turned out to be Wasabi.

Late 2017, I left work to go see some parts of the world with a small backpack (not a mistake) and wing tip shoes (mistake). It was a mousy version of Into the Wild. I burnt my money on the London Underground.

All the while, I continued writing.

What started as a child’s scribbling pad eventually led to an ability to color within the confines of a boundary. That boundary took the form of simple philosophies. Less infinite existential who am I’s, and more exploring the confined wisdom in everyday ordinariness. Things such as: What can a pigeon teach you about originality? How do you make a complete fool of creativity? How can Nietzsche and his mustachio help you discover your life’s purpose? You see, not exactly the Pacific Ocean of philosophies.

The blog is not a journal. The essays written here are for each other, for parts of us that are not so different and still so unique. I am complicit in adding to the onslaught of information already out there. And I know you have important stuff to do. Ergo, I am rigorous about what I put out on the blog. Posting essays only when they are ready gives me enough space to carve out only the most significant part of the labor and pretend I am not lazy. I hope you find it useful.

One more thing. Actually, five more:

A blog is not a substitute for books. Between the two, spend your one wild and precious life reading books. This blog is meant to be a salubrious break, a weekend getaway of reflections; or to go back the chips metaphor, a guilt-free snack; perhaps even a soothing alternative when someone tells you, “I’ll be there in like 3 minutes, or max 4 – surely 5!”

I call it Meditations in honor emperor Marcus Aurelius – who regularly reflected in journals he kept for himself. A few thousand years later, someone got hold of the journals (invaded his privacy), decided the writings were too epic to remain private and published them under the title, Meditations. Now that I think about it, the emperor may have been quite pissed.

That’s it. Please feel free to get pissed off, offer topic ideas, and money through the comments section under any post [This section is mostly private unless the comment is about how the essays on this blog changed your life, and how I manage to remain so handsome].

With that, from the bottom of the borewell of my heart, Thank you for reading.

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