In a hotel room in the midst of the land of medieval erotic Indian temples, I managed to write, re-write, and submit my PhD research proposal. My fate is in the hands of people I may never meet. It doesn't matter anymore. What mattered was that I found in me the grace and courage to perform intellectual tasks and to find within what had otherwise seemed like abstract thought, a methodological rigour.

There is something undeniably marvelous about that process of scholarship. Knowing that I already authored and published a book, even as I'm in the process of negotiating with a publisher for the next one, boosted my ego and self-esteem. A few days ago, I also received a Facebook notification reminding me it has been three years since I began writing this column. I've lost track of how many of these I've written.