I believe that that I am the author of my own life story
I believe that on the day you are born, you receive as a precious gift, a blank book yet to be written. You are also given a pen, as you are to be the author. Each life stage is to be recorded as a priceless vignette in the book of your unfolding life. Eventually creating a manuscript, I believe the words reflected will indelibly evolve into the story of you. When it is your time to leave the world, your autobiography is complete.
I assert that your parents are the first main characters to find their way into the pages of your developing composition. Having provided a strong foundation from which my own story has taken flight, my parents have instilled characteristics, traditions and values that have guided me in writing my own beginning chapters.
Resonating loudly through the words of my imaginative childhood, are accounts of how I spent countless hours affirming I was a princess of an exotic, palatial, faraway land, or that I was a most beloved character, “ Alice in Wonderland” regally attending the “Mad Hatter’s enchanting tea party.” Spending entire days weaving storybook characters, I would create elaborate sets and intricate scenarios that I was ostensibly the main character in.
The next chapter, the pubescent years, took a turbulent plot twist. Constantly reinventing myself, I began to lose sight of things that once strongly shaped the characterization of me. Looking back, I realize that whenever I felt lost throughout this chapter, I would revisit my childhood, rereading the creative words that used to define me.
Through this chapter, I was still creative and I still loved to dream; however, it was no longer about being a princess instead it was about meeting my prince charming. The pages were filled with the antics of my best friends and I, gossiping about adorable boys or whispering about whom we would go to prom with.
My current teen chapter is about discovery. Sometimes the discovery comes through hardship. Arduous tasks seem to constantly loom. Consuming my life, like a heavy weight, are the demands of school. Faced with a daily barrage of essays, tests, and projects, I endeavor just to keep up. Picturing the happy ending, I somehow manage to endure the daunting adolescent odds that often appear to be stacked against me. Yet, somehow, in the end, things always turn out okay.
I am still in the midst of writing the kaleidoscopic teenage chapter of my life. Parents, friends, classmates, crushes, and teachers create a plethora of the characters that fill this exciting yet turbulent chapter in my life, foreshadowing and shaping the person I have yet to be.
Believing that life is a personal, creative story yet to be, I will write a “happily-ever-after” ending to the story of me. Why not scribe it the way I want? After all, I am the author.
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