I started writing because friends were quick to judge. While explanation and reasoning were still incomplete, they were ready to dismiss.
I started writing because my mind is unexplored land. No mountain and no valley of the Earth look like the plateaus and hills of my world.
I started writing because the ember burns within. Withholding the fire slowly destroys my flesh and spirit.
I started writing because the world can never have enough. Visionaries, leaders, sailors, and teachers – we will always have room for them.
I started writing because my parents will be proud. I am not rich with money; I am rich with creativity.
I started writing because who else can write like me? I’m no Twain, no Spyri, no Hemingway, no Chopin. I’m neither a Samuel nor a Guy. I’m not Harper. Don’t ask me why.
Only I can write like me. Hence, I started writing.
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