The Only True Form Of Freedom Essay
I don’t recall a specific moment in my life when literature became such an express full self-empowering art form. Nor can I remember a passage that could have struck a match that would light a fire in my soul, in which would then resonate a deep passion for the art of writing. All I know, is that one day, for some reason, I just wanted people to know how and feel what I felt. I wanted them to view my writings, starting from my name in the heading, to the very last punctuation mark of my conclusion paragraph, and be left yearning for more. When I write, I have the ability to give life to the thoughts I keep hidden and allow the world to hear my voice I keep silent.
Since I was a young girl, I often was approached by my English teachers asking for permission to read a story aloud to the class that I had written for a certain assignment. My ego would shine as bright as the sun and of course, when the teacher would present to the class I would hold my head up, my pride radiating off of me while I stared directly at their mouth. I enjoyed watching the words of my writings fall delicately off the lips of another. It may come off as a tad weird, but to my young self it was the best of feelings. Someone had enjoyed my writing so much, to the extent that they would even want to share it with those who were willing to listen. I believe with my whole heart, that this was the beginning of my love for literature.
I think the most humorous part of my…