I have a pen. This pen is my only power, my only savior, my only weapon. If I let it go, if I let it slip out of my hand, I’m afraid I’ll fall. I’m afraid I’ll be just a shadow again, a silhouette.
If something is intrinsic, like your personality or your talents, should you be afraid of losing it? Is it possible to lose the most important thing that makes you who you are, that defines you, that lets you breath? Is it possible to lose the thing that keeps you going day after day?
The first short story I wrote was about two girls making masks. I was in Ms. Ford’s six grade class, feeling unfit to my new American life. I didn’t know English well. My sentences were choppy and full of errors ; I was a novice writer. After a lot of editing, Ms. Ford helped me rewrite the short story and later read it to the whole class. She made me feel special. I suddenly felt like I existed, that I was worth something.
Along the way, you meet certain people who make huge impacts in your life, who give you so much without waiting for paybacks. I’ve met many of these people along the way. Because of them, I’ve been able to hold on to my pen, my power. I’ve been able to keep it by my side and I intend to keep it there. They’ve taught me to make this pen valuable for myself, make it intrinsic.
I have power…I won’t lose my pen.