Why is this here?

The thought of putting pen to paper to capture my thoughts, memories, feelings, and existence fills me with anxiety. Growing up, I had no privacy—my notebooks were found, my stories thrown away. My inner garden of dreams, thoughts, and fantasies was trampled by the so-called guardians of righteousness.

What you’ll read here is a blend of lived truth and imagined narrative. Sometimes it’s memory, sometimes it’s invention, sometimes it’s both at once. Not everything is literal, but everything is honest. That’s the beauty of story — it protects, it reveals, and it gives me back what was taken. Because there is always more than one side to a story.