Self Journey

Dear reader,

When I was younger, what was making me happy was to play and read. Playing meant imagining some characters and their adventures and bringing them to life by sharing their stories. Reading meant being transported to some other worlds, written down and shared with us by authors.

Years passed and I devoured book after book. I was amazed as some other people’s words were transporting me to different realities, creating these emotions in me, much more intense and real than what I was experiencing in the real world.

Sometimes, some books were disappointing. It was terrible to feel fully engaged towards a story and its characters, and to be deceived by the choices its author made.

One day, after another deception, I wondered: if a story’s ending was not satisfying, could I not write another down? 

After all, after reading hundreds of stories and imagining hundreds more in my head, could I not write myself? I suddenly felt this urge inside. I realized: I had to write. This had slowly become a necessity.

Writing became necessary as the little voice in my head, the one that had always been whispering to me, was becoming louder.

It is a beautiful necessity. The one that drives me everyday, the  one that makes me stay creative. The one that makes me constantly look at the world differently. It makes me smile and it makes me proud. 

I hope to share these feelings with you through the words I write down and share with you.