We, as people, try to simplify what happens in our lives as much as possible, until it is so plain that almost everyone can relate in some way. The story goes as follows: You are born, learn to
walk and talk, show some personality, make some friends, lose some friends, get a bit of education, find love, lose love, get a career, find true love, get married, have kids, and spend rest of
life with your career and family. Generally, this is a normal, happy life. But not everyone’s lives are like this, some just can’t explain their lives so easily, so smoothly. God knows I can’t.
Still, when talking to others we are satisfied with learning about the little things we have in common. That is how things have always been. The only people we truly trust with the special details
are family, friends, and lovers. Those people are special, but sometimes they just aren’t there when you need them. You get lonely, and you wish someone knew how you felt. This is where I come
My story is not as basic as the regular happy life. I have faced hardships that most people have never even thought about. So long as life continues as it is, people will never know the special stories about others and the real details of their lives that make them who they are. Sure, a few have made history with their life tales, but that isn’t your story. It isn’t my story.
What I wanted was for people to know my story, through my own words. Writing my story was what I wanted, and for everyone to know writing to me is the way the world moves; my land of milk and honey; water; air; it’s my friend, and it keeps me sane. So when people ask me what career I’ve chosen, I’m on the verge of laughing, because to me it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Yet, there was always something bothering me. After college, I planned to write my story, get it published, and live the rest of my life satisfied knowing maybe peoples’ lives have changed because of my story: I am Hispanic, adopted at birth, and have dealt with magnificent and horrific experiences.
But what if my story isn’t enough?
After college, I don’t want to just write about me and what I know anymore. I want to write about their stories and what they know. Who are they? By they, I mean everyone else. My mom, dad, brother, friends, cousins, acquaintances. What about the lady at the park walking her dog? What about the little boy waiting for the ice cream truck? What about you? Shouldn’t people know your story?
People want to know somebody’s listening, that somebody cares. I want them to know I was listening, by writing about all they’ve ever told me about themselves. To prove they aren’t alone, because there is always someone listening, not just me. My writing wants people to read about the lives of others, even if I have to make up different names. It doesn’t matter, so long as I am able to interpret their souls the right way.
So what I want to do after college is tell your story. And change peoples’ lives along the way.
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