Jan 25,2007

I’m the silent sinner. I have lived in this planet for a fifth of the time that I want to be here. I know that that’s optimism to the point of foolishness but, hey, a girl can dream.

I didn’t grow up here, of course. I was raised in a little town of a little country. And for my whole existence, I loved it there. I still do. And I think I forever will. But each of us has his or her own fantasy world. A world which we can control. A world where even our wildest fantasy is real. Our little piece of Earth where we are free to be who we are. Without external expectations, without status, without fear. Our little sanctuary. This is mine. My home.

There are a lot of things I’ve always wanted to do. This is one of them. I’ve always wanted to write. About what? I don’t know. All I know is that I want to write. I also want to paint. Paint what? I don’t know either. I’ d love to sing or to be able to play an instrument or so but when God was giving away musical talent, I was busy writing an essay about what instruments I wanted to be able to play. Haha. Also, I love learning new things. I love books, I love the classroom and I’d probably love to stay in the academe forever. There are a lot of things I don’t know and I’d love to know.

I’ve always said that I’m a student hungry for knowledge, a woman seeking for wisdom, a writer eager to spill her ink and a painter ready to strike a blank canvas. People say a lot of things about me but this is what I say about myself. Also, I am a child desperately wanting to grow up, trying to prove something so when the time comes that I have to look at the mirror, I will see someone worthwhile.

They think I live a happy perfect life. They are wrong. My life is far from perfect. All my life, other people are writing my story. My parents, my friends, my teachers and other nameless and faceless people whose expectations I tried so hard to meet. Here, I write my own story. Here all external expectations, all pretension, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure falls away. Here I’m whoever I want to be. Here, I’m me. No social status, no expectations, no none sense. Just me.

Here, in my fantasy land, in my home, I’m a writer. I have the nerve to call myself a writer simply because I write. Ever since I learned about what a writer does, I knew I would be perfect for the job. Why? Because I’m perfectly happy to stay locked up in my room making things up. At the end of the day, that’s all I am. No adjectives, just plain writer.

Here’s more:

Chameleon Unit
Smart, adaptable, you’re able to insinuate yourself into any setting and act like you were born there. Sure, sincerity and honesty aren’t your strong points, but you can fake them if the need arises. You might feel a little hollow inside, but with so many friends, who cares?
What’s your malfunction?

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