There I sat, in a corner, using the smallest crack of light from the window just to write my name for the first time. I believe inscribing those four jagged letters in a photo album was more than a serendipitous rendezvous. It was not by mere chance that every time I decide to reminisce on fragments of history, I would always have to remember my first account with writing.
Infinite companions we are.
Every drop of memories can be found etched into my collection of journals. Those stacks of journals are my photo albums. Snapshots in ink. The past, the present, and the future.
My adventure with words has only just begun…
This pen will be my passport to many more things to come.