Written words are safe bubbles for scared children like I always was.

Especially since there are few escapes for frightened people other than stories. I have been one of them. To us, opening a book has the calculated instability of the ocean’s tide. A sisterly instability, not one filled with harmful chaos. They are similar to the tide in their power- books swell slowly. They will begin and end.

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For a person who has never been sure of anything (ever), it’s helpful to know at least this. If you had asked what I wanted to be when I grow up, at age 5 I would’ve said I am going to be a firefighter. At 7 I would definitely be a chef, at 10 obviously a zoologist, at 15 of course a marine biologist, at 19 probably a surgeon. Nothing stayed the same throughout all these years, but if you asked me what I loved I always had the same answer- to create and observe.

Despite many changes in my life plans, it took me a while to digest that I wanted to help, and I wanted to give. I wanted to listen. To squeeze these desires together, I knew that nothing is more human than storytelling. It nurtures what our souls need. To sew together words, and in my case, pray that someone might feel less alone from seeing them.

You gain power on a page. You are heard without shouting. You are understood without explaining.