There’s a reason why I am as I am? And there is a reason for everything I do whether it be to have a snack, to dream, to talk, to cry and lie. I am special because of this. I am creative and hence there are reasons for my creations.

     I’m an artist and I depict on paper, the unseen world that lives in the deepest nooks of our imagination and also in everyday world around us in which many see no splendor at all. By doing this, I attempt to see the grandeur in myself and I can’t help wondering, “If I’m an artist then, why I can’t I see beauty in me?” These are the reasons I draw and paint but is the reason why I’m artist is because its something I can do? Tell me, why am as I am?

     Yet pictures aren’t always made from crayola markers, watercolors and chalky charcoal. I’m a painter of words and I scribe to release myself of the bound emotions held inside for so long in which renders me to a weeping sopping pile of tender flesh against wet pillows if I don’t get them down on paper. I write of happy ending that I long for so dearly but by writing these joyful conclusions can I see the happiness, the true happiness, to an ending in my life? I write tragedies because in my stories, my characters are much worse off than I am. I compose narratives of adventures because the only journey I see in my life is puberty. I write about love to explore my own heart and to try to learn more about it and what it wants. Although does anyone know what they want or what they really need? But these reasons aren’t the reasons why I’m a writer. It isn’t because it’s one of the only things that I’m good that I can do. Why am I a writer? Why am I as I am?

     And last but not least, I’m a dreamer. I look out the car’s window sometimes and dream of being the Flash, running faster that the speed of light. I dream at night because I can and not because it’s the only thing I can do when I close my eyes. I dream because I can and whether those dreams come true, I don’t know or either care much. I’ll keep that spark of hope inside my heart in my breast and I’ll keep dreaming because my dreams may or may not come true but at least I can dream. But why am I dreamer? Why are we, the people of the world, dreamers?

     Some may actually have an answer to that but it’s very hard to formulate some type of solutions to these difficult questions. It might be too confusing of a resolution to understand such as the common question, “Why is the sky blue?” Any chemist or scientist could tell you the answer to that one but by the second sentence, I’m sure you’re head will be spinning. There’s even a chance that we’re not supposed to know until the very end of our lives when everyone around you has molded you enough for you to understand.

So why am I as I am? Why are we as we are? Why is he or she as they are? Why are we as we are? I can’t help but to wonder, and dream to try to figure out some type of answer.

Although as I look back at this paper, I realize that I have already answered these questions.

Here it is, My answer.

The reason why we are as we are is-

Because we can.