Trapped in the south, I can only use my words to express my inner thought, both creatively and thoughtfully. It is hard to find something you love to do. I still cannot find my passion. Hoping to find it one day, I write for the time being. It gives me a sense that I am doing something useful or important even though the back of my mind tells me its a waste. I'll do it because I like it, even if its not often or all the time. It is something I wanna do with my time, and I'll waste it just the way I want.