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Why I Write Period


I felt misunderstood.


I felt like I didn't understand myself at times. Let alone understand others and the world at large.


I wanted to choose my own voice over everyone else's. The act of writing forces you to make a choice – for better or worse.


I would rather wander aimlessly for years than walk a paved road that's not my own.


It started as a reaction to me feeling like I don't share enough about myself – I was an under-sharer. It’d be fantastic if the blog is a catalyst for real-life conversations for the people around me.


It's also a way to record and cement progress and lessons in my life.


The main reason might be to practice my capacity for thought and clearly communicating that in writing.


But enough about me, let's not forget it takes two to tango-mango.


Why should anyone care about reading the writing of someone with no authority, no list of life achievements, no real success?


Well, why does one care about anything? How come most people don't think about how the trees in the park were planted so neatly? Where did they come from? Some factory? Brazil? How did it get transported to the exact location where the planter took over?


99.99% of the people in the world simply do not give a flying fuck. About me or the trees in the park. I doubt I even give a fuck about the trees that much. I think I'm in love with myself.


I mean, who wouldn't want to to read about a dude who is way too self-absorbed to let any opportunity for mental masturbation go to waste. Send over people who look for terrible ideas and ill-intentioned advice, they'll be in good hands, I swear :)