It seems I was "No body", before I come to this abstract area. I am a blogger and going to remains in this page
I write as writing is like breathing to me. If I want to survive I should write. Million laws, tradition, culture rule stopped me of talking. Now writing is my voice, the only voice that I have. May or may not once comes that something happen that stops me of writing. Here is the only place that can go back and take step in different direction. I was thinking who am I? The “I” that killed long time before. I didn’t find chance to save it. I didn’t even know who killed it’. All that I know is that “I “are not here anymore.
The one is here is something they made it. People around me
that they shaped me and put it instead of “I” . I can’t tell you how much this
“me” is different from that real “I”. As I can’t remember it. Sometimes feel she is moving from me silently
like a ghost. Sometimes I miss her. When I write it seems I am going to give
life to her. Writing from the real side
of life, all real desire and challenges that one face by losing her freedom.
Writing of the moments of pain, sorrow that one reach by missing all her
dreams. Writing of all moments of falling and rising again. Writing about the
dark side of life. About hope that comes
not from inside but far from you. Writing about challenges that one can go
through and come out of it. Writing about all broken heart and the voiceless
people who, has nothing to share except pain. Writing about all moments of life
that one can kill every day to just reach unknown ,unseen future.....
