I have always pushed off doing things under the pretext that I am not ready, I don’t have all it takes, I need more time, more skills, more something. But I have come to realize that I can’t wait because I will never be fully prepared. Even with a broken self or a damaged body, I need to move – to explore. Despite all the chains and restriction, I need to create. One act of creation a day, one small breath of fresh life every day, something to keep the spark aflame, so I don’t crumble and die under the weight of my life.

A small step, a string of words, a chapter read, something, anything, to tell me that I am not dead, that the end is not near, that there is still a speck of magic in me.

So I take my broken wings, my crushed dreams, my ailing body – I carry it all and I move – with pain, with anguish – and it brings me life.

I may not soar high. I may not be what my wildest dreams weave. But I am higher than where I was moments ago.

“Don’t go gently into the good night,” the famous poem says. So any step, any act is defiance, hope and amazing grace.