The Pen That Rose From Struggle.

The Pen That Rose From Struggles.

I wasn’t born with everything. I was born with questions — about life, society, and why some voices never get heard.

Growing up in Nepal, I saw things others ignored: the silent sacrifices of mothers, the broken dreams of girls, the unspoken pain in a father's eyes. I didn't just live them — I absorbed them.

I studied Anthropology, not just as a subject, but as a way to understand why people suffer and still smile. Books gave me knowledge, but stories gave me voice.

But knowledge doesn't always pay rent.

I worked hard. I failed. I stood up. Again and again. I became an RJ — not because I was confident, but because I wanted to give voice to the ones who couldn't speak. Even today, life isn't easy. I still worry about bills. I still struggle to be seen, to be read.

But I write.

I write not because I have to. I write because it's the only thing that keeps me alive inside. Each word is a step forward. Each story is a small rebellion. Each sentence is my scream turned into art.

Maybe someone, somewhere, will read this. Maybe you will. And maybe — you’ll realize that struggle doesn’t break everyone. Some of us grow through it.

With a pen in hand.