If art imitates life then I want to believe the reverse is also true. For is life not art unfiltered, uncut, raw? This relationship cannot be one directional, both are inextricably linked and exist symbiotically. Perhaps if I put more of how I see me – myself and my kind – and how I would like to be perceived into my words, I will see it reflected in life. Satre says: “The other sees me, therefore I am.” Is it too much to want this other’s gaze to be understanding, if not kind?
I will fight this war with words, my pages the battle ground. One woman, armed with a pen. Here’s to hoping mine is as mighty as I’ve heard it can be.

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