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My Voice, My Pen

Many have posed this question to me in my lifetime, "why do you write?"
I often pause and ponder, "is this really what I want to do?"
After much deliberation and contemplation, I have only one conclusion; this is what I was born to do. I was born to write. To share my pain, my passion, my victories and triumphs with the rest of the world. This is my greatest joy yet.

"When I think about myself, I almost choke" (Maya Angelou).

I often find myself sharing her sentiments. It is ironic that I would call myself a writer. A paradox even.
This is where my laughter often stems from.
As a child I learnt to read and write a lot later than my classmates. I was always behind. The last to copy notes and the last to finish a test. I did not make much of it at my age. I just thought to myself "I was slower than everyone else".

So you can only imagine the look on my elementary teacher's face when she learnt that I had graduated with honors in English Literature at the end of High School. She was stunned. But my mother was not.
"I always knew you could do it!" She said.

But did I know I could do it? I'm still not sure.

It was not a matter of proving others wrong or stunning the naysayers. I had found my passion, although I did not know it then. But that was what fueled me back then. Reading. I loved living the experiences of others and reading their thoughts.
That passion gave birth to another joy in me. I loved to write. Although, I would discover this second passion a lot later than the first, it is indescribable what these two have done for me in my lifetime.

But these joys have not always been jubilant. Another paradox in my narrative, I know. Reading, writing and speaking about the 'hard things' can never be an easy thing for an introvert. There were many times when writing was painful for me. Especially when I had to uncover past hurt and hurt old wounds. But I have come to the realization that "nothing in life worth having comes easy".

And so, this is why I write. This is my version of bravery. From one who could not read and write to someone who lives and breathes literary pieces. Sometimes it comes easy other times I have to cut through the hurt and watch myself bleed before I can put pen to paper.
But when it comes down to the wire, I would not have it any other way. This is my voice. My pen.

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