Waking up with so many things on my mind is truly overwhelming. After saying a short prayer, I step out of bed, pick up my pen, and start to write. I choose not to type on a computer because I want my hands and mind to work together as a team, completely free from the internet or machines. At first, the words do not fit quite right. There is a smudge on the paper and a line goes wrong, so my eraser becomes my helper. I try to write another line, but my thoughts will not cooperate. Once again, the eraser becomes my hope. In this quiet moment, I realize that writing is a deeply personal journey. Every person has their own unique signature when they write a voice that belongs to them alone. I do not write to impress other people or to make them like me. Instead, I write to express my true feelings and thoughts. Writing is my ultimate outlet. I know my writing is not flawless, but I believe it is perfectly imperfect. I am a human, not a machine. My lines might have cracks, and my w...
I pick up my pen, and I start to write. The words do not fit quite perfectly right. A smudge on the paper, a line going wrong, a rhythm that trips in the middle of song. But I am a human, not made of machine. I mix up my words, and I say what I mean. My lines have some cracks, my letters may bend, but each little flaw is a helper, a friend. I stumble, I learn, I try and I test. My messy, true self is always my best. So look at my pages, the dark and the bright. I am only human, imperfectly right.