Who Am I?

Wrapped in my identity are, perhaps, the two halves of the world that are most at odds with one another. So there has always existed within me a struggle for identity.
I felt, for many years, very much like Alaric King of the Goths: torn between his heathen ways and traditions; and his new found religion and civilisation of Rome. Or even Timur — Tamerlane — torn between the ways of his Mongol ancestors and what was expected of him as a Muslim Emperor.

Though, like Tamerlane and Alaric, instead of adopting a way forward, I forged my own.

As it was common for the Tartar rulers of Samarkand to say: “A man’s path is only one”. Meaning: that once your reigns were drawn towards the standards of war, struggle, and adversity, a purpose, there could be no turning from it without shame.
Now, this is not to say that I went out to buy a horse, and a composite bow; and began raiding hapless villagers. Of course, I could have facilitated this by joining the French Foreign Legion (it crossed my mind) or I could have sent out my CV to Al-Qaida, apparently there was a high turnover of staff there (This didn’t cross my mind… in any other way than humorously). Instead, I competed as an Amateur Boxer, and distinguished myself, indeed, I really did feel like a barbarian king! It was a great time and kept me focused and out of trouble through the dark days when my father resided in a prison cell.

But when I look back at the rough seas I had been cast upon, rudderless as I had been, I realise that during all the turbulence there existed one vein of constancy: my love for the written word. For books. For sentences, and the words that comprised them. The worlds that they conjured my mind. Literature, of a multitudinous nature, had been my vessel with which I escaped to distant lands were things where different. Where Conan and his companions travelled far and wide by dint of sword strokes. Where Sharpe and his rag tag cadre of Green Jackets wrangled with the French, all while Horn Blower and his band harried them on the high seas. I even visited the Ring World with Luis Woo and his particular brand of misfits. Plus, as a younger man, I read many times over the sheer magic that Was Dune, changing my perspective on the world forever.

Sadly, to mention all the works that influenced me would take many more words than I can spare here.

Not only did I read, but I also wrote. But stopped at around eighteen years old as my vision began to become clouded by other things that, at the time, seemed more important than writing. This was a grave mistake. I have not written constantly since then. Until now. Its time to make a writing comeback!

Please enjoy my content. And please be lenient when you bring down upon me the hammer of judgment. I’m just playing with ideas and practising an art that that is as vast in dimension as Larry Niven described the Ring World. I wonder if I will ever master this craft at all. But I’ll try nonetheless.

As the Tartars were fond of saying: “A man’s path is only one.”