Perhaps it is because of all the snow, with its blank slate of a promise. Perhaps it is a perk of celebrating the Lunar New Year, reminding me of my resolutions (already growing a bit stale on the shelf). Either way, I am ready to start again.
In my college years, I used to blog impulsively; between midnight buffalo-wing splurges and the occasional class, I poured my angst into the crevices of virtual reality. Like many of my contemporaries on Xanga, life was just so complicated, and everyone had something to share. After all, there is much to say about the meaning of life according to French toast.
Five years later, the fast-moving streams of Twitter, Facebook, and Tumblr have left me longing for something less ephemeral. This blog is meant for sitting back and mulling over the delicious moments thrown at me from random directions; yes, a proper pieing indeed. As a lover of words, I hope to share literature, stories, and foodie adventures that may stick around, longer than the ice currently imprisoning the Garden State.
As a first bit, here's a benediction that one of my favorite authors declared at the start of this new year:
May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you're wonderful, and don't forget to make some art -- write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself. -- Neil Gaiman
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