About half an hour ago, my landlady knocked at my door, holding containers filled with delicious Persian dishes she had made herself for Nowruz. Earlier in the day, a delicious smell of spices and stews cooking made its way into my flat, the entire street was lined with cars, and as I got ready to go out, I could hear the sounds of people being welcomed into the house, and the joyful cheers of children.

Julia, curious as ever, made her way through the opened door and into the hallway, and my landlady, who loves her, took her in her arms, covering her with kisses while we chatted a bit. "Happy spring", she then told me, before heading back upstairs.

Despite the unexpected blizzard we had earlier in the week (for the first time ever, there was snow on my birthday!), spring is here, and people of so many cultures and faiths celebrate the rebirth of nature, be it through Easter, Nowruz, or Ostara.

And as I find myself walking into another spring season, I cannot believe how quickly time has passed, but at the same time I feel intense relief about it. A year ago, I was dealing with an insanely stressful apartment search while I was still freelance, and I was also coping with the fresh and painful loss of the woman I loved.

A year later, I still can't believe the positive changes that have become my new reality. I live alone with a cat in a small but comfortable home, I have a wonderful job that I'm passionate about and it's only getting better, and I finally have a serene, drama-free relationship with all my family members.

As to love, as much as I have, and always will have, endless affection and caring for S., I have realised it is time to turn the page. I may not have technically found love again, but I know life places people on each other's paths for a reason, I trust destiny, and I know that the best is yet to come.

If there's something putting a damper on this picture-perfect life, it's that despite how professionally fulfilled I am, I feel creatively blocked, and it's not something I'm managing to break free from. Be it with my novel or on this blog, I realise that I am struggling both to find motivation and to clear up the figurative bridge between my mind, where the ideas are born, and the page where they transform into words, sentences, paragraphs, chapters, or blog articles.

It's yet another case of writer's block, but unfortunately no matter how many articles or books I read about it, no matter how much I speak to it to friends, and even professional writers and creatives that I'm lucky to meet through my work, I'm not able to find a solution to snap out of this complete disconnect with writing.

I know I shouldn't be talking about this publicly, as it is likely to push away potential collaborators, brands, and sponsors. But the hell with all of that. What's the point of having a blog if I can't be honest on it? I'm one for breaking the mold, I've always been this way because I haven't really had a different choice.

I'm hoping that as I adjust to this new life, inspiration comes back, and I manage to rebuild this bond with writing that at one point was seamless.

Perhaps it will come with the symbolic rebirth of nature. Who knows. As unlikely as this seems, hoping for a miracle never killed anyone.



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