Read only or enable editing?

Most of the time, when I sit down to start a new story, a question nags at me: Who am I in my own life story? Am I the main character? A supporting role? The comic relief? Where do I stand?

I feel as though I haven't truly experienced life beyond my own mind, the pages I write on, and the screens I stare at. Is that enough to make my existence worth writing or reading about?

I was born in the eastern region, a place known for its fruits and warm climate. But I never grew up there. That place is a stranger to me—its people, its streets, its essence. And in a way, so am I.

Instead, I grew up in a small administrative town—one some argue should have been a city. But due to its hilly nature, expansion was impossible. Have they seen Brazil? China? Greece? I always believed it could have been something beautiful.

After high school, I went to university in the capital city and hated every bit of it. I longed for the less crowded streets of my hometown, the shade of trees lining the sidewalks, the fresh air untainted by factories, traffic, and tear gas. Most of all, I loved that my family was there—that it was familiar, a blanket of comfort. I swore that once I graduated, I would never return to the city.

Oh, the irony. I live here now.

And so, I find myself questioning the script of my life. Is it set in stone, or can I rewrite it? Is life dictated by fate, or do we shape it ourselves? The things I once felt certain of, I no longer am. I’m caught in the middle of my own plot twist, and the more I turn the pages, the less I understand.

I can't skip ahead to the last page to find the answers. Life doesn’t work that way. You have to sit through it, page by page—cherishing the comfortable moments and enduring the difficult ones.

When I write stories, the title usually comes first or second, but never last. In life, however, the title comes only at the end. Only after we take our last breath can others say, This is who she was. This is what she did. Because as long as we live, things change. If we were to title our lives too soon, it would be misleading.