Joyce in Brownian Motion

As a child, I loved to write. Of course, it stemmed from a love of reading, and then an interest in copying what I read and trying to create my own version. I think I picked up at a relatively early age how to make my writing look different from others’, and at school enjoyed having my compositions being spotlighted for the back-of-class noticeboard.

Fast forward a couple decades (and a little bit more), and writing is a dying art. Manual writing went first giving way to typing, and now increasingly, human writing is being delegated to artificial intelligence. It is the fate of the millennial that we get to bear witness this whole d/evolution. Likewise with age, the flair of creativity in writing has inexorably made way for other values, such as conciseness and clarity. Understandably so, yet no less regrettable.

In this space, I’m going to write more, about three things that I want my life to be defined by:

• Professional Life – which feeds the body;
• Philanthropy – which feeds the heart; and
• Art – which feeds the soul

I hope that I will have enough to write about, and I hope that you will get some value from my writing.

Bouncing off,

Joyce