What I really hate in life is embarrassment, another thing I hate is failure, but above all I hate promiscuity. It disgusts, it’s a pain in the neck and a sore under the armpit. And by promiscuous, I mean exactly that. Something else I hate but I don’t care the least about, is a friend who goes behind my back to correct what is right, as they always claim. I stopped seeking advice when my best friend started helping me behind my back, and started giving out advice against such friends instead.
I grew up taking no notice of the people around me. I loved sitting out at night and watching stars, telling tales to my younger siblings. I loved lying down on the grass, green grass, looking up the sky on clear days, breathing in fresh air and bathing in the beauty of the sunshine. I loved peace. I loved nature. And I loved writing. I wrote about nature, I kept a diary, and I noted down every time a man made me feel like a weaker gender. I promised myself to one day make men know that there is a different breed of ladies.
All the way from Kindergarten, I knew I had a thirst, that only writing could quench. I recited poems throughout my life as a student, I participated in public speaking, I addressed crowds,but a hole still lingered within. A hole that could only be filled when I pour my heart on paper. And the more I poured, the more I lost the use of verbal expression. Every time I had an issue, I would not rest before writing it down.
No one understood me. No one thought it normal to lock oneself in a room reading a novel or writing a poem. But nature took its course. And now, here I am. Owning my blog and airing my views. Ben Carson has a story, Barrack Obama has a story, everyone else has a story, and so do I. It’s just what I call a dream come true.