Once upon a time, there was a little girl who loved stories. Day in day out, she would pester her mum to bring her to the library, her favorite place. She was only 5.
I was that little girl who loved stories. I adored fairy tales, tales of creatures never seen, stories with twists and adventures, and endings were often happy ones. I remembered reading the entire series of fairy tales at my neighborhood library. Needless to say, my mum was impressed, but she never quite understood why i only loved fairy tales.
Then i moved on to bible stories, they were brilliant! It was as if they were fairy tales, but only they were true! The adults around all said that they were real life accounts. I was elated.
It has been many years, but my love for stories never went away. I have been reading, listening and participating in stories of the people around me. And that is truly my passion.
I stumbled onto a blog, its titled “ Stories that matters”. He too was searching for stories, travelling from one place to another, searching and writing the stories along the way. I am impressed; impressed in doing what he does, in continuing to do what he had began. Becos, i had stopped my search. I wanted to in my own story, and no longer in others only.
It seems like a task too difficult, i stopped struggling and feeling despair. But i am not ready to raise the white flag, not really sure what i am going to do now or how things will turn out… I am sure that i will not surrender and resign myself to compromise. I am trying to put away the recent spate of disappointments and unhappiness, the day i am able to speak to my father without coldness would be the day of my success.
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