Ever since I was a child, I’ve wanted to be a writer. I realized early on that I was good with words — good at storytelling. So I decided that I wanted to become a writer, to tell my story, my voice, and my life journey.
But after life happened, that quiet dream was long forgotten.
And yet, here I am.
Sometimes I feel discouraged. I feel like things are not what I expected them to be. This is not what I once dreamed of. I feel like I should have written a book by now.
But little by little, I’ve grown an audience. It’s not much, but it’s there.
Just because there aren’t thousands or millions of people reading my work doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter. If a piece of my writing touches even one person’s heart, in whatever form it may be, it still matters.
In whatever form or way, it will always matter to me.
That is the reason I started writing, even without experience or formal knowledge of writing. I write because I have a story to tell the world.
If one person reads something I wrote and it means something to them, in whatever way it may be, then that is already enough for me.
I don’t need applause to prove that what I have is worthy.
What I write always comes from my heart.
And if I’ve connected with just one heart somewhere in the world, then that is enough for me.
