Before I could write, I was coming up with stories and not even realizing I was. When one of my younger siblings asked me to explain things like why one tree was creepy on my family’s property. I told them it was because it was a witch tree, of course, with her soul trapped inside and to pray that she never got released. Honestly, it wasn’t my intention to scare but I thought if anything came to my mind then it must be true. Fortunately, our family’s middle child was a smart kid and stopped asking me to explain things. Yet, my imagination was only getting started. As I did not enjoy school, my imagination would often tap on the window. Instead of sending it on its way, I often went willingly while leaving my body in a semi-studious position with folded hands on my desk. I found I could vacate the premises if I nodded here and again.

It wasn’t until college, when I took a fairy tales course that solidified that I was meant to be a storyteller. There was that ‘aha’ moment when the fairy tale I wrote for my final resonated and moved my classmates as well as my teacher. That’s where my heart was not in my communications major.
Ever since then, I have embraced that I am a storyteller.