Eversince I was young, I loved collecting pens, notebooks, stationeries too. I also love writing letters to my loves ones. Though I have terrible handwriting, it did not stop me from writing to them much to their appreciation. When I got older, my obsession with pens and notebooks grew as I got obssessed with books as well. I started writing my thoughts on papers, I started a journal, and it grew to writing poems and short stories that was often left unfinished. Now that I have started and is trying to get serious on writing, I asked myself “Why do I write?”. It’s a question that has been on my mind more times than it should. At first, I did not know the answer, but I think now I know. I write because for me it is my way of talking to myself, I write because there’s always a need for me to express how I feel; may it be anger, hatred, frustration or love, it should be written. I write to communicate; not with others but with myself. It keeps me sane especially because I am a self-confessed introvert who loves to keep it to herself and have a little socialization as much as possible. I write to convey what I feel. I also write to evoke my words to the people, will they get what I mean? I write because that is who I am, and I don’t want to be anybody else.