Written by
Faraz Mirza

If I ever envision my life stripped to its essentials, I think I will see myself surrounded with everything that is biologically necessary for me to survive, including a laptop. If I see the next level, I will witness myself actually filling up that blank Word screen with those blue, almost-born, yet-quiet moments. In many moments that I’m sure matter cosmically, I have questioned my self-bestowed entitlement to call myself a writer. And after much fretful deliberation, I have realized that if the presence of desire alone can be considered equipment enough, I am very well-equipped to be a writer.

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