I kinda promised myself I would not do a blog. Heaven knows why I am here. Why should personal thoughts, emotions and feelings, melancholic, painful or otherwise, be made available to the masses? For ridicule or admiration? For catharsis or more limbo? I have no idea.

No one knows who wintersolitude is, or what it stands for in the seasons of life. (It is by no coincidence that I have chosen to start my blog in a foreign domain.) It might be good for us to fade into oblivion sometimes, in a world that is ever eager to scrutinise one's past and swallow up one's future. But even this might be self- delusional. You might still know who wintersolitude is, just like someone who found out who nightdance was on a personals website. (Actually, I still cannot reconcile myself with that.)

Maybe some things are better left unsaid. Maybe some things cannot be left unsaid. Well, yet who knows? This maiden piece might just be my last. What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning.

The end is where we start from.