Everyone I knew was convinced that I would be a writer. For years, I was sure of it myself. And then one day I realized that I just wasn’t sure anymore, and that quite possibly it had happened a long time ago. After my mental health (and, to a certain extent, physical health) went up in flames, I…

I wonder if I really have the right to complain.

Honestly, I am alive (unlike some people who will never know how and when the war is going to end), I’m in a safe place (if the terrifying sound of military planes once in a while…

It comes and goes, this feeling.

It’s so cool that I don’t even know how I should describe it. (I probably should forget the word “should”). I mean, come on, I’m usually like “oh, everyone knows how good it feels to write something special”. And then it’s suddenly…