Words have fascinated me for as long as I can remember. Since I was a little girl, I’ve always loved stories. I love hearing them, reading them, telling them, living them. One of my earliest memories is at three years old, when my bedtime ritual consisted of a negotiation that usually went something like this:

Mom: “Okay, pick out a book to read before bed.”

Me: “No, not one book. How about ten books?”

Mom: “No, how about two books?”

Me: “Five?”

Mom: “Three. But that’s it.”

I requested some of these storybooks so often, that eventually they became engrained in my memory, word for word. I began to link the shapes the letters made to the sounds that they prompted, and this is how I learned to read. And once I started reading, I never stopped.

On blistering hot summer days, when it was too miserable to do anything besides sit in the air conditioning, my grandma took me and my siblings to the library. Within five minutes of walking through the door, my three allotted books were in hand, and I was crouched in a quiet place, ready to delve in. By the time my siblings had selected their books, I was well into Chapter 5 of mine.

It wasn’t until I was much older that I discovered a love for writing. I had never been one to speak my mind (although my close family would beg to differ) because of my introverted and shy tendencies. I was always afraid to misspeak or stumble upon my words, to lock up and not be able to finish my thought. I was scared of being interrupted or ignored, of being told that what I was saying wasn’t worth listening to.

Writing changed all of that. It started with what was mandatory— standard five-paragraph essays during my freshman year of high school. I loved the way that I could transform my words, taking subjects that weren't particularly enticing and turning them into stories.

Writing gives me the power to proclaim what I normally wouldn’t be confident enough to say. By my writing is not out of cowardice— it is out of contemplation. Writing allows me to edit myself— refining my words in order to express my thoughts completely and accurately.

I quickly discovered that I love writing about emotions. Expressing myself has never been my strength. Writing, however, is. A million thoughts can be racing through my mind, yet as soon as I record them, they suddenly become cohesive. I can pour my heart and soul out onto a clean sheet of paper, a blank word document, and suddenly everything makes sense. My thoughts are organized. My mind is calm. And oddly enough, I believe that when I write, that is when my voice is finally heard.