In today’s daily prompt (which I rarely follow up on; I’m kind of horrible at that sort of thing) I was requested to explain my blog’s title and what it means to me.
A Sign Of Life is, admittedly, rather vague. So here’s the history of it, from the very beginning.
When I was younger, I used to read a lot. I still do, but that’s not the point. I found a series about a magic chest and key, which made a pint-sized Native American come to life. I don’t remember what the series was called, but that’s the gist of it. During one of the books, a baby started crying very loudly. As opposed to being annoyed, the Native began to laugh and cheer. “He is loud,” the Native said. “He will be a strong boy, full of life.”
Or something like that.
When I impulsively decided to start blogging, I was going through a rather difficult time, as all teenagers do. I was complaining to a friend of mine, and he said, “At least you’re still alive. Consider yourself lucky for that alone.”
So, no matter what I’m feeling, even if I’m crying my eyes out, laughing with reckless abandon, or so livid I’m shaking, it means I’m alive. And that’s what matters most.