There comes a time in one’s life when one gets this urge to get acquainted with solitude. Not to run away or turn one’s back from the hubbub of routine. But to lock one in a room with the bare minimum —a shelf containing books by Rilke, Proust, Chekhov, and many others, neatly stacked, a well-cushioned chair with a footrest, a warm reading lamp, an Oriental rug, and a window half open to let the breeze carry in the pleasant petrichor. To be oblivious of any other external stimuli, deep diving into the written pages, and one would find peace amidst chaos, right here in the eye of the storm. Get rejuvenated to jump into the whirlpool of the world once again.
seeking ikigai …
the chapters I read
so far