My constant companion throughout life has been the English language. My parents read to me before I could on my own, and my childhood was filled with magic and boundless imagination. In middle school, I took solace in books, going to school early every morning to volunteer at the library where I felt most at home. In high school, I found my voice and learned to use words as tools for conveying my personal journey and connecting with others. As the years progress, I continue to submerge myself into the ramblings of humans, recognizing the power and possibility that are the result of writing.

Seeking out wisdom is an enjoyable burden to bear. At every impasse, I scour for clues from my favorite authors and poets, sometimes by retreating into novels of great importance to me, sometimes by checking my Pinterest board of inspiring quotations. Whatever the circumstances, it’s the inextinguishable hope that identifies writing of which I’m so entranced. There is always something new to discover, knowledge to gain, a reward to collect. Even if you don’t exactly find what you’re looking for, the reader is always met with a fresh perspective and increase in information.

In words, the impossible comes alive. Nothing is out of reach. No dream or thought or action or result. Reality can be very difficult to swallow. Though situations may cripple me with fear, I wear a shield of words, guarding me with their worn resilience. No sadness or trouble or reservation or intimidation can overcome in writing if it is not willed to do so. But what then is writing if not a more perfect reflection of our world? Perhaps this is the definition of greatness we all should strive for.

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