Since as far back as I can remember, I wanted to be a writer and a carpenter. I wanted to be a carpenter, because I like the smell of wood shavings, which was the reason I hung around the carpenter’s workshop a lot when I was around 10 years old.

I don’t have a clear logical reason to have the desire to be a writer. I found the meanings of words and phrases intriguing and like to think about them. I also liked the looks of words – calligraphy, when I was a kid. For awhile, I dreamed of owning a library, so I can flip through any books I like especially in raining or cold days – surprising treasure finds make my heart sing and my brain perk up. I like the smell of libraries.

I think I wanted to be a writer maybe because I love books. I appreciate books, not just the content,- it’s all inclusive – the cover design, the font and paper selection, the size, even the spacing of words and the texture of the paper. Books are treasure boxes. Books are knowledge keepers and are the source of everything.  I have no problems if my dream of being a carpenter doesn’t come true, but I think I would have regrets when I look back at the end of my life that I didn’t write anything. I want writing to become a part of my daily activities from now onward.