Sometimes, people tend to misinterpret things about how I was raised. To tell you, it is in a household where rules are put out and those rules are the ones to discipline us into becoming who we are in the present.
Discipline is hard to obey. One wrong move and you get a punishment. One wrong move and you get to kneel in a grain of beans. One wrong move and you'll get to stand outside the house holding two thesaurus in both hands while your balancing on one leg, naked. Yes, it was harsh, it was sad, it was frightening. But it taught us how to become better person today.
Passion, when we were younger, was harnessed as a skill. We honed them and treat them as our swords for battle. We used them to be on top of all the other children and for us to stay at the top. It was our offense as well as it became our defense.
Growing up, the skills and passion that were honed had became blunt and stunted. In order to survive the real world, that sword must be thrown out and be replaced by a double-headed axe but I can't seem to throw mine.
My passion and my skill for art grew even sharper than before. I used it, I honed it, I treasure it along with the axe. I never prefer to use the latter. It was never really a thing for me to be too brutal with the world.
I write because it frees my mind from all the burden. It frees my spirit from the cage of my body. It became my invisible tether to saneness, along with my art, my passion.
There is no reason to blame how I was raised. It was done. Pity is only reserved for the weak and those who lose their dignity. I didn't lose mine. As long as these sword I have will never be blunted and may never melt with the heat, I will remain, as I am.