I write because I have so much to say but no one to say it to. I have supportive family and friends but there is a threshold to their understanding. At home, my parents are constantly busy. After so much, they tune me out to continue on with their lives. At school, I’m there to listen and absorb everything that is taught to me. If I were ever so lucky, I’ll come across a teacher who is willing to listen to me, to genuinely listen to me. But eventually, that teacher will continues on with there life, leaving me with more thoughts and ideas needing to be released. That’s where my paper, my pencil, my pen, or my computer comes in. When my utensil or computer keys becomes one with my hand, it’s like I’m emerged into a world that is created for me. A world where I feel like I belong. A world that once I enter, I can say as much as my heart contents without the fear of being judged. No one is in my writings telling me to be quiet or telling me that I talk too much. No one is there telling me now is not the time to talk about this or that. No one is there to stare back at me with a look of boredom. The paper encourages me to keep going with what seems like it’s endless supply of white lines. It pulls my most inner thought out. It doesn’t matter what I write about, no matter how far fetched, my paper is listening to me. Somewhere in the world, someone has the same interest as me and my writings could one day change their outlook on the world. It could maybe one day help someone realize they are not alone in this tiny yet oh so humongous world. I know it has for me.