“I want to write, I must write, I should write, I’m going to write,” this is what I said to myself when I was young. I wanted to excel in everything that I did. Life t home was dark, but I believed that it was better outside our home.

What was it that I was supposed to write, but what was it that I was supposed to write? In the distance I heard soft lightning followed by harmonious singing. Was this what I was supposed to write about?

There was already so many accounts of history that were written about in our school books that I wondered what else there was to write about. Surely there must be much more to be said about recounting mere incidents about the past. There should be more written and said about the hate we as people bare each other. People are more driven to treat each other badly because of what happened in the past.

I have used this as my outlet to pen down what I feel people should hear. One might believe that I’m driven by my need for money but I have dreamed of looking up the Milky Way while the skies rained pounds, shillings and pence’s one day. That believe is what keeps me going.

Family and friends believe me to be foolish; they don’t believe in my writing talent. They may have a point; how many books lie idle in bookstores and boxes filled with dust because people want to read them? I myself have sometimes believed that my writing is a pointless venture. Yet, I continued to write.

I believe that one day; people will see that I have something to say. For now, I continue practicing how to say it. I write not to please others, but to progress, get better and prosper. I wrote because at the end of the day, I have realised that I do it for myself.

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