I knew I wanted to be a writer since I was 16. No one knows this or didn’t know this. Where I am since I would have been called delusional because it is not considered as a “real job”. I figured that I couldn’t do what I love so why pursue it? I chose business instead. I hated it the least than other subjects. I am one of those people who is not very good at verbally expressing what is eating them. Last year, I was feeling so restless. I didn’t know what’s there left for me to live anymore and I am only 20. I downloaded a writing app because it looked pretty cool. I started writing my first book. I have been thinking about the plot for some years now. Now it’s only half done like 50 pages. Truth to be told, the first few chapters came out pretty bad which I’m going to rewrite. Sometimes I even wait more than a month to write a chapter; sometimes I write two in two days. I don’t know if I’ll be able to complete it. And if I do, I don’t know if it will ever be published. My story is based in New York city which seemed fitting and I don’t even live in the USA. And as I have mentioned again and again that my native language isn’t English. As they say, the mind has no boundaries. Truth is I don’t even think about getting it published it right now or completing the whole book. I just focus on the next chapter. I don’t what lies in the future for me. But that is the beautiful nature of the future. It’s like I’ve got a thirst for it now and it probably stopped me from turning into a nutjob.