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Who am I?

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While we may learn to become the narrator and the hero of our own story, we are not able to become the author of our own life. [20]
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I am nine when my dad buys me my first diary. It's a beautiful purple hardcover with a magnetic clasp and I fill it with pages of lyrics, crushes, and frustrations.

I am ten when I discover I love to write. I am rewarded for it at school. I publish fanfiction on the Internet anonymously for what must have been other children at the time. 

I am twelve when I start a blog with a local publishing company using repurposed fanfiction.

I am fifteen when I first meet my boyfriend. It becomes too difficult to write down all my thoughts, so I type them instead. Occasionally I speak into a camera.

I am sixteen when my family moves. I find all thirteen of my old diaries, stuffed with over 200 shitty song lyrics, and I throw them all away, ashamed.

I am seventeen when I've had possibly the last fight with my boyfriend. I open my laptop and take a video of myself as I sit in silence, unthinking. It lasts 30 minutes.

I am eighteen when I declare myself a feminist and bisexual. I am so angry at many things. I work my ass off, am proud of myself for the first time in a long time, and vow to never get married.

I am nineteen when I move to America. Before I leave, I film something small about my family and what I'm leaving behind. America is strange and scary at first. I hardly understand the English everyone is speaking because it all flows by so fast.

I am twenty and I've adjusted well. I never want to go home.

I am twenty one and it's taking me a long time to answer my own questions.

I am twenty two and it's taking me a long time to answer my own questions.

I am turning twenty three with only more questions. I try to be an author and I try to think for myself. I try to define who I am. 

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