It's been 18 months since I blogged. Not that I was too averse to writing; it's just that the latent reality called life took me through completely unchartered territories - some great, some amusing, some bah-forget-it. The fact is, here I am, back to befriend the personal written word. After all, the written word, unlike the ones spoken with callous concern for truth, is more believable. It stays, even if you erase. No matter how far I stay away from it, no matter how hard I evade it, I'm drawn to the written word. Right now I feel like the cardiac surgeon who found his misplaced scalpel. Once again, I can pry open the emotions from the unlit corners of my heart. Well, that reminds me of a question I’ve been dabbling with for a while. Can a cardiac surgeon, after having seen the innards of an ailing heart, ever be romantic? Imagine a cardiac surgeon saying "I love you from the bottom of my inferior vena cava..."