Words of Innocence and Experience

Often I lurk behind the curtains, letting others take the stage and tell my story, which is then adapted and twisted. Won’t I tell my own story? Perhaps, but I’m suppressed, smothered.

People are enamored with storytelling, or blogs and personal spaces or writing an autobiography when becoming a celebrity wouldn’t have been all the rage and desirable. Thus, I turn on the computer, click on “Mozilla Firefox,” and hit the keyborad. A friend I met on the Internet wishes to become a storyteller under a skybridge. Such a romantic idea!

I’m still unsure about whether I want to share my story or not. Hence the words come out in mysterious codes only comprehensible to my close friends and me. I never intend to be pretentious. Rather, I want to record things; my youth cannot be obliterated.