July 7, 2011

Another Echoes

I do not feel like a writer.

I have no initials behind my name. I have no higher education from a prestigious or non-prestigious institute. I have no credentials to speak of.

Other than I'm human. I'm a mom. I have lived ups and downs of life that some people never traverse; others climb much more rugged terrain than I will ever know.

Yet the terrain I have trekked has been unique. It is the one thing of which I own. Yet even in owning my story, I don't feel I own it.

What does it mean to own?

Possess. Taste. Embrace. Hold.

Interesting. All those words are temporary.

So do I really own my story?

Yes, I do. I too am only temporary. And will hold my stories for the time allotted me.

The stories, however, may never die.

The stories are more than my own.

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