The struggle to write is not new. Rather, it has become the norm rather than the exception and despite my desire not to force anything, I must in order to produce something.

Recent times have been good. My trips to New York City and Los Angeles were both awe inspiring and moving. For one thing, I realised I would much rather be either place; if a place were the answer. However, I'm nearly sure it is not the correct time and I'm not in a state to run away. The process is slow but, unnerving if expedited. I must remain steady.

The holiday went well but, as I told a friend, the holidays have lost their luster. And, it hasn't been without an effort of holding onto some childlike grandeur of the days. In that I realized childhood has fleeted quickly and i've found myself headstrong for adulthood with self-discovery near completion. The joviality of the holidays, I also believe, will only be recharged with an upcoming stage of my life; if i'm so called. Children, like my childhood, are what make the holidays grande.

But, not yet.