In the quest for meaning I thought it was important to ask oneself, who you are, where you are and where are you heading to. To be honest at the moment I’m not entirely sure how to answer any of those questions but this is what I’ve got so far:

I’m a middle aged man from a country that does not appear in the maps of the world and whose first language, the language my mum and dad and friends and neighbours and teachers have spoken to me since I was born, to most people, does not even exist; and those who know of its existence treat my mother tongue as the language of Mordor, something inherently evil that needs to be destroyed or at least kept hidden where no one can ever reach out. 

I came to England some years ago, right after the waves of the global financial crisis hit the shores of my frail little world – in which I drowned. So, I died in a country that does not exist and like a phoenix I was reborn from my own ashes in a country everybody knows, with a language everyone loves. A country where everything is possible and dreaming is still legal and free. So I got myself a dream; which, I have to say, it terrifies me to the point of paralysis; but also gives an exhilarating purpose to my second life. I dream of becoming a professional writer – storyteller, poet and I’d like to say essayist but I’ll see if I can manage blogging first.  

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