Jane of no trade.

What is it about early mornings that stirs the desire in me to compose, create, make something beautiful with words?

As an eight year old I once woke up very early in the morning to come up with a poem by the time I finished breakfast:

When I wake up in the morning,

And see the bright sun shine,

In my heart I feel,

It's a good day for me.

But when I go to school,

I do many naughty things,

And then I feel

It's been a bad day for me!

I was praised at school, my mother choked on her milk when she heard it, and I was reasonably satisfied by the adulation. At around Christmas time, the same year, I produced another masterpiece:

O little pony

O little pony

Will you stop there?

For I have to go to Bethlehem

Baby Jesus is born there.

Clearly, it was a very productive year for me. There were other little masterpieces along the way but like every other unsung poet, I was eventually distracted by the mundane, the petty.

In the memory of very promising innings, my mother often asks me, why don't you write? Why are you not writing anymore? Your poems are so wonderful.

Well, mothers will always say that.

I have always been afraid of writing for someone else. I don't fear criticism but I fear a lack of approval or the absence of praise. When praise comes my way, I am suspicious, lifting the sheets to see if there is a monster under the bed. Self doubt or excessive self awareness is so natural to me that I have no idea what I really look like. When I catch a glimpse of myself in flashing car windows and tall shop windows, I am startled by the wild haired stranger looking at me.

I painstakingly hid my identity when I first started a blog. I abandoned it when I realized I couldn't do without readers as well. I would read other blogs and cringe at the non- attractiveness of my writing. I am the best fan of a reasonably good writer's writing. I am scathing with the criticism but I am most loyal as a reader.

This is my second attempt at keeping a blog. Ever since all my comfort zones have abandoned me, I realize I have nothing to lose.

Reader, I fear you not.