I am a good writer - that's what I thought of myself growing up. I write almost anything - from prose to songs. I am a happy writer and I wanted to use what I have written to bring joy to the world and to inspire others of the beauty of life. I believed that one day I'm going to be a writer. I wasn't thinking about getting rich or becoming famous. All I wanted was to touch lives and open hearts. I just wanted to write because that's what makes me happy. And I wanted to write with a purpose because I know that will make me happier.
But growing up was a tough one. Circumstances have changed and our priorities have evolved. The want to become a writer is still present and the want to inspire the world through what i have written remains within my heart. But i cant help asking what have happened? Throughout the many years, am I simply allowing society to mold me into becoming the person they think I should be while I sacrifice the person I truly am?
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