The line is behind me—I crossed it again.

It was on a nostalgic summer afternoon, where the days are slow, the sunlight is almost white, and even the wind through the van’s window on the way back from school is hot, that I came to a realization. I was depressed. Granted, that is not what most parents want to hear from a their…

I want to write. I want to write about what I see, about what I imagine. When I lacked the vocabulary to write, I would draw. I would draw to the point my teachers would catch me Arts classes and make me revise my other neglected subjects. When I decided to pen my first book…