Bold tracks and Bagpacks

  It’s been a while since I last wrote here. Writing had quietly become a rhythm in my life, almost like breathing, something I owe not only to myself, but to the world that listens back when I share. For the last three months, books, myths, and poems have been my companions, grounding me in unexpected ways. The turning point was @Clarissa Pinkola Estés’ Women Who Run With the Wolves . To call it a book feels too small. It is a portal, into the psyche of women, into the wisdom of ancestors, into the wildness we often silence. Clarissa weaves stories like threads, reminding us that fairy tales and myths were never just “children’s tales.” They were maps, coded with symbols, showing us how to navigate love, loss, struggle, and rebirth. At first, the weight of the book almost overwhelmed me. Its stories ,  The Handless Maiden, The Skeleton Woman, The Crescent Moon Bear, La Llorona, Sealskin/Soulskin  etc, each echoed through different corners of my life. They whispered tr...

  This Sunday afternoon, under the strange glow of the September 7th red moon, my mind decided to open its floodgates. Thoughts came streaming in like uninvited guests at a house party—loud, messy, but oddly revealing. I found myself asking: what really is the game of life? Because if you look at it too closely, it feels like a rigged board. Play it well, eat your greens, run your miles, chase careers, build families, and still, the clock runs out, and you die. Play it carelessly, burn through the midnight oil of recklessness, and you still die. Either way, the exit door is the same. So what exactly are we here for? And worse—imagine spending a lifetime chasing someone who doesn’t love you, or running after jobs, relationships, or “destinies” that were never yours in the first place. You turn your back on people and places that genuinely welcome you, and instead sprint head-first into rejection, chaos, and heartbreak. You wake up one day and realize you’ve been auditioning for ...