There are so many writers in the world, what do I have that separates me. Truth is: Nothing... I have nothing to show I am distinguished. 

I am just another leave of tree. Just another wave of sea. I am just another silly girl weaving her life and dreams into the tales of her characters. Just another teenager who escape the world, flying to another one with my pen (or in this case, I don't know my android Keyboard??)

I am the only writer on this planet who made her Grand-father write her school essays because I was so scared of writing.
I thought... I created... but I couldn't write. Because writing needs a certain courage... A boldness.
And this boldness wasn't injected into me until life posed me with its challenges and threats to its full rage.
Five years of my life, the five most precious years of my teenage (13 - 18), I spent in a small house among my school books. I had to. I couldn't afford a teacher or a school for the kind of education that I wanted. When my friends gathered and had fun, I spent my time between five adult members of my family sorting out their problems. Life isn't fair. It certainly wasn't to me. But it did showed me two ways. A fun, normal present and a unworthy future. Or the most harsh present for a future I dreamed for. And that was the only way for me to build the life that I wanted to live. I am glad that I suffered but succeeded. I felt like I died, more than once in my life. But I didn't give up.

I am glad I fight. And I intend to keep up the good practice.
  • JoinedNovember 17, 2013