It’s a very strange feeling. To move or not to move. To quit or to stay. It's stranger when you don't particularly like the place and its policies but when you seem to have grown roots, without any reason for you to do so.

I’ve wanted to freelance for months, because even if the money is slow to come by, it does give an amount of flexibility in the kind of work you want to do.

Years back, when our joyride in a small publication suddenly ended, thanks to a publisher with illusions of false grandeur, I’d freelanced happily for some months, made some money, lost some. The stories I ended up doing weren’t always exceptional, the projects I took up weren’t always that great, but it was my decision and my time and I had fun with it.

Wonder what’s stopping me from doing the same now?